Balthazar Cavendish Vs The World
by SpongeGuy
Summary: THE BIG ONE. Balthazar Cavendish must find out if he is worthy of giving love and receiving it, as he tries to defend Dakota from The Seven Hearts Club. Mature themes. Part of "The Milo Murphy's Law Wiki Guy AU".
1. The First Domino Falls

Darkness.

The stage is set.

Lights!

Music!

CURTAIN!

The curtain parts and we are greeted with a big ass title card that states in what can almost be described as a whisper that the year is

2141

The place? Marlborough Lines, Andover, Hampshire, in the United Kingdom. 51° 12′ 32.72″ N, 1° 31′ 17.65″ W.

As we cross non league football grounds, a railway station and a flour mill, we can see a mostly industrial town, in which the clouds are grey, yet cool.

Not your stereotypical English weather here, folks!

In this sort of lifeless small town, rooted in traditional thinking, we approach the very basis of this old timey tree of a town: Marlbourough Lines, the official Army Headquarters of The United Kingdom.

At first glance, the building would seem unimportant to most: Beige walls, multiple green doors, surprisingly miniscule.

In fact, its most striking external feature would be its oddly shaped roof.

Ah, but you see…

It is what inside that is important.

And it is definitely true with Marlborough Lines, and as we enter the doors, the hustle and bustle of Behind The Scenes army management is shown to our curious eyes.

Here you will not see men and women in green practice their shooting, however.

Here, my dear friends, is where we find the minds behind the operations.

Men in dark blue high neck tunics and elaborate headwear shuffle along importantly, discussing matters with a dry, formal air.

Everything, even the most trivial of conversations is gravely important.

Bushy beards and wrinkled faces nod and harrumph, and sounds of hurried typing and fax machine dials reverberate in a light room.

One of these bearded men, a Sergeant Arthur Wilson, former bank clerk from Thetford, Norfolk, currently twiddling his thumbs and pacing agitatedly near a big, wooden brown door, made of the oldest and finest yew, is tasked with a most unenviable errand: Deliver the Chief of the General Staff bad news.

The polished wall clock tick tocked the seconds away, causing more and more sweat to glisten on Sergeant Wilson's forehead, as he took out a hankerchief to wipe the droplets away.

"Just get it over with, Arthur old boy…", he told himself, trying to ignore his heart's desire to leap out and travel the world as a minstrel.

Or a dog show judge. He hadn't chosen yet.

"You may come in, Sergeant Wilson.", the gruff yet deathly serious commanding tone of the Chief of the General Staff sounded from within the office out to poor Arthur's ears.

Arthur gulped, his throat almost croaking like a toad as he edged nervously towards the shiny brass metal door knob.

As he wiped his brow once more, he tried to settle his irate nerves.

"Take it easy, old chap. It's just routine. Yes, routine."

He nervously turned the handle.

"Why, you've told him this a million times."

Of course, a small voice inside him couldn't help but retort "Well, he's also massacred you every single time you've said that."

But there was no time to dilly dally.

Otherwise Arthur would get massacred twice.

And there were only so many times that could happen in a day.

Arousing last bits of blind courage, Arthur swung the door open wide, entering the office with a frenzy.

"Sir, I have bad news to report!", he shouted out in attention, saluting the currently turned with his back to him chief.

The office was quite a sight to see: Swarms of medals decorated the walls, maps and diagrams of key hot spots and defensive positions hung on every spot that wasn't filled with pictures of important people meeting the Chief, and shelves upon shelves of thick, detailed books on military history stood proudly, knowledge practically oozing from their yellowing pages.

However, that was not what caught Arthur's eyes, and certainly your eyes would agree.

All eyes would and should dart towards the Chief himself, his imposing and towering stature present even when seated.

His back was hunched in thought, but since no one could see his eyes, no one could tell whether said thoughts were stormy or cordial.

One thing for sure: He would not like the news.

And that was immediately apparent in his dark, turquoise eyes that almost cut Arthur to ribbons without a single word.

The rest of the slaughter would be done with his piercing and sharp voice, one that could slice through air like it was… Well, air.

"What… Bad news, Sergeant?", The Chief asked with a decidedly displeased tone.

Sergeant Wilson took a moment to breath as his voice trembled.

"Well… You see… It's about… Um… Oh, you know…"

"This never gets easier, does it?", he thought to himself.

The Chief, his rifle green high neck tunic and monocle now present, stood up, his large form now even more apparent as he strode towards Arthur, each step echoing in the halls of Arthur's mind.

"In actual fact, Sergeant Wilson, I don't know. If I did know… The matter would have been resolved long ago."

His hands crossed behind his back, his head now lowering to meet the meek man below him, The Chief stared him straight in the eyes. The whites of his eyes to be specific.

"Refusing to report under order could lead to serious trouble for you.", He said with way more than a hint of a threat in his words.

He tugged at the cross adorning Arthur's chest.

"Would be a real pity if someone as essential as you lost their privilege to serve the Queen's army over something as trivial as… Bad news."

His words were loud and clear, and as Arthur gulped one last time, he choked out the message he so feared.

"Understood sir. It's… It's about your son, sir."

The Chief's composure died alongside Arthur's words, his monocled eye twitching and his dulcet tones now replaced with rage and frustration.

"You don't mean…"

He seethed and huffed, slamming the door aside, knocking Arthur down to the ground with a loud thud.

"Back to your duties, Sergeant Wilson!", The Chief barked as he marched down the hall towards the entrance doors with great intensity.

"I will deal with Balthazar personally!"

As the doors swung wide and the sun invaded the premises, a doozy Arthur weakly saluted from the ground.

"As you wish, Chief Cavendish…"

* * *

**1\. Just seeing that there's a title and a tagline and that this story is finally happening is magical to me. A friend of mine and I came up with this back in October 2018, and I've been adding more and more to it ever since!**

**2\. Believe it or not, back when I was consistently making stories for the wiki, the plan was to post this on December 2018 (preferably Christmas). There would be a sequel (which I hadn't chosen yet, and would end up becoming WaffleTail's requested "Is This A Crossover Fanfic?") and the threequel, "The Question", was scheduled for Serend's birthday. As you all know, the reverse happened.**

**3\. Only a few things were clear to me from the start: The title, the plot (at least, parts of it), the villains and the ending. The musical parts were only thought of back in September 2019 after a first viewing of Steven Universe: The Movie left quite the impression!**

**4\. The purple font that stops after Cavendish is on purpose: Purple is the official BI-Sexual color on the LGBTQ+ Flag. It represents his denial. The World is black because most of it (outside of a few close friends) want him to be someone else.**

**5\. I like the intro! The story is written as a movie, a musical and a play, so the whole curtain shebang was fun to add!**

**6\. I must say that another inspiration comes from MelissaFan's musical about Milolissa! It sparked something in me, so thanks, Colleen!**

**7\. 2141's green font (that you can't see) is because of Cavendish, and because it felt kind of soft and homely, before everything goes to the shit.**

**8\. Every detail in this one, from the military uniforms to the longitude and latitude to the locations are accurate. Lot's of research for this one!**

**9\. It was fun writing this chapter! This story HAD to be different to my usual stories, so I spend a lot of time on locations. It feels slower than most of my work, and it was fun to try doing that!**

**10\. It is what inside that is important isn't very subtle, true.**

**11\. Arthur Wilson is one big "Dad's Army" reference, and I love him for that!**

**12\. In general, writing this scene was so different! It really feels like nothing we've seen before in the AU, which is most of this story. It's easily the most mature, adult and sad story yet, and it takes us to places we've never seen!**

**13\. And we finally see Cavendish's Dad! He did appear as a ghost in "This Date Must Work" but it is here that is his true debut! He doesn't feature that much (in fact, once this prologue ends, you won't see him again until the end), but he is important! His presence is the reason Cavendish is the way he is, and he is arguably the biggest figure in Cavendish's life!**

**I'm sure some of you may find this chapter a tad disappointing: Only 1k words? And it's not even about Cavendish? Yes, I get you. But don't worry! Not only is this chapter important, it will be continued on Monday, where some REALLY big things happen!**

**In short: Lil' Cavendish. Nuff said.**

**Please share your thoughts on this one! I'd be more than happy to answer all maner of praise, critique and questions you may have! Here, on , Ao3 or Tumblr, I'll take anything!**

**See ya then!**

**The Milo Murphy's Law Wiki Guy.**


	2. The BestWorst Almost Decison of My Life

"Put your hands up, fair citizens!"

Green foliage, tall shady trees, bright sunlight, and clear blue skies…

Yep.

This DEFINITELY wasn't boarding school.

"Stick 'em up! Come on!", a young boy with fair brown hair and light freckles aimed his water pistol at a bunch of giggling boys, of thin and thick build, who stood in a line with their hands now raised up.

"Oh no! Whatever will we do?", a tall stick like kid named Marcus asked with a laugh, struggling to mean it.

The bank robber, pacing up and down with a potato bag he had drawn a dollar symbol on, tried his best to glare at them, even though he too couldn't take it seriously.

"Shaddap!", he yelled, in a pretend grown up voice, still stifling giggles.

An air of anticipation permeated the area, everyone awaiting the truly fun part of the game.

School uniforms lightly floated in the wind, a few leaves sticking to their trousers, as breaths were bated for the arrival of the hero of the game.

"Come on, man! Come out!", Kevin, a small sniveling kid with glasses yelped, and he got whacked by the muscular well built boy named Ronald.

"Knock it off, Kevin!"

"Sorry, sorry, the wind blew off my hat!", a spirited young voice could be heard from behind the bushes, and finally, the game could be continued.

"I give you by the count of five to give me all your money!", the bank robber announced, and he waved his water pistol around, an attempted commanding tone to his voice which failed since he sounded so young.

Leaves crunched under his black polished shoes as he pointed the water pistol at the boys.

"5… 4… 3…"

A leap in the air could be heard and some boys began prematurely cheering as a figure soared through the air.

"2… 1…", the robber said, tightening his hold on the pistol, preparing to shoot.

"STOP, THIEF!"

The voice was loud and heroic, echoing across the forest plain, and as he landed with a resounding thud, hip hip hurrahs were sounded by the "hostages".

The robber turned around, and despite this being out of character, he couldn't help the wide grin on his face as he said…

"Balthazar Cavendish…", he uttered in pretend resentment, his pupils dancing with glee.

"I say, it's time for you rapscallion to head to the nick!"

Clad in his school uniform, with the important addition of a flowing red cape that blew in the wind magnificently, Balthazar Cavendish, aged 10 years old, less dick headed, more obsessed with his father's love, and somehow as confused about everything, stands tall in the grass, his honey blond hair and thick black framed glasses complimented by a heroic grin.

He readied his fists of justice, a cowboy hat tipped just over his eyes, giving him a mysterious aura.

He was happier than he had ever been in his short 10 years on the planet Earth.

The Bank Robber and Cavendish circled each other, determined yet giddy grins plastered on their faces.

"You ready to fork over the cash?", The Bank Robber asked.

"In your dreams, which you will have in jail!", Cavendish retorted.

The other kids crowed "OOOOH!" at the two combatants.

"So, you actually think you can stop me?", asked the Robber.

"I don't think…", Cavendish started, posing fabulously.

"I know…", he almost whispered, but loudly enough for The Bank Robber to hear.

The Bank Robber cocked an eyebrow and gathered up some spit, but he failed to spit on the ground properly.

"You're doing it wrong!", Ralph pointed out.

"Raise it from your throat!", Edward instructed.

"Really put your back into it!", Liam advised.

Finally, The Bank Robber let out a spit that pleased the audience, and he scowled at Cavendish, a twinkle in his eyes.

Cavendish started to approach, his steps like those of giants, colossal and all important.

"Oh! You're approaching me? Instead of running away, you're coming right to me?"

Cavendish continued to approach, his face smug and brazen.

"I can't beat the stuffing out of you without getting closer!"

The Bank Robber laughed "evilly" and grinned at his opponent.

"Oh ho! Then come as close as you like!"

And so, the two boys walked up closer and closer, silly smiles on their faces as time seemed to slow down.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!", the "hostages" cheered on, hoping to get in on the fight after the "main event".

Cavendish and The Bank Robber kept walking until they finally met, faces mere breaths from each other, foreheads touching, eyes up close and personal.

"Give me your best, Balthy!", The Bank Robber taunted, but he did so from a friendly, encouraging place.

"Would I ever let you down, Ollie?", Cavendish said, almost lovingly, before the two finally collided, "punches" and "kicks" exchanged in a scuffle of epic proportions.

The other kids could barely contain their excitement, and soon, they all started to engage in the battle, mostly just laughing as they missed terribly.

Over the top calls of "Hwah!" and "Take that!" and "Ora!" and "Muda!" could be heard as the boys showed a complete disregard to the conventions of combat.

Their teachers and parents would not be pleased, but, really, when were they ever?

Here, away from the stuffy classrooms and strict guide rules, away from the suffocating conventions and crushing expectations, they were able to be something so incredibly special…

Themselves.

Soon, though, they grew tired of the game, as kids do.

However, they refused to end the fun they knew was short lived as it is.

"C'mon, mates!", Collin called out from the madding crowd. "Run to the trees!"

"They'll never catch us alive!", Ryan boasted.

"I'll make sure they catch you dead if you don't shut it, Ryan!", Terrence chided.

Still, the boys ran like animals, crowing and laughing and shouting as they spread out in the forest of Yews, climbing the ancient trees like agile monkeys.

Cavendish tried to climb one, but unfortunately, his cape got stuck between his feet, and the rushing onslaught of hyperactive children obstructed him from reaching his intended location.

"I can't climb like this!", he complained, annoyed by the constraints of his situation.

Suddenly, he heard a loud whistle from the tree tops, and he looked up, his eyes darting around for the source of the sound.

"Up here, Balthy!", Ollie, or, well, Oliver, The Bank Robber, motioned for him to climb up to the branch he was on.

But try as he might, Cavendish just couldn't reach the first branch, it was just too high for him.

Oliver's hand, however, was not.

"Thank you for taking Oliver Turing lifts! We lift, you join the ride! Going up!", Oliver announced, and a less than amused Cavendish was carried up thanks to his friends arm.

"I could have done it myself.", Cavendish protested as he sat on the branch and pouted.

"Cheers to you too.", Oliver sarcastically replied as he punched his friends arm, making Cavendish smile just a little.

"Careful with that arm! I need it!", Cavendish fake protested, and he punched back, making Oliver blush.

The two boys sighed and sat on the branch, the sun now beginning to set, its dark orange colors painting the sky with marvelous results.

"This has been a good day.", Oliver stated, and Cavendish nodded in agreement.

"I mean, we broke a ton of rules and they're going to murder us, but still.", Cavendish added, and Oliver shrugged.

"I don't know. My dad's pretty cool about this kind of stuff."

Oliver then added a little quietly, a little privately, like he was hiding a treasure…

A secret…

"He's pretty cool about my stuff."

Cavendish didn't really know what that was about, but he was too busy dreaming a familiar dream.

As ever, he was a little too focused on himself to see the forest for the trees.

He stood up on the branch and pointed at the horizon.

"Oliver…"

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Oh, boy. First names… This must be important, Balthy."

Cavendish smiled back. "Of course it's important. I'M saying it, after all!"

Oliver rolled his eyes humorously. "Whatever you say, Balthy."

Cavendish resumed his sentence. "No, seriously, listen!"

He pointed at the horizon again, his eyes sparkling with hope. "One day, Ollie, I tell you one day, I am going to be the GREATEST hero ever!"

Oliver couldn't help but laugh. "Balthy, you say that every day, and every day you fail all your classes."

Cavendish frowned, not wanting to be reminded of that. "It's only the physical ones…", he muttered sadly.

"Yeah, as if your dad wants you to be behind a computer.", Oliver joked, but Cavendish wasn't.

"Ollie! I really mean this! I really do want to be a hero!"

His eyes were pleading, and Oliver knew that he was being serious.

So he stopped joking and took on a sympathetic smile. "Sorry mate. I know you are."

Cavendish forgave him with a soft smile and he returned his gaze to the sun.

"Just imagine it, Ollie! Real bank robbers, real villains, bowing down before my presence! Fear in their eyes! Respect in their surrenders!"

Cavendish posed on the branch, nearly losing his balance but regaining it.

"I'll be the very best, like no one ever was! I'll kill all the monsters and aliens and maniacal overlords!", Cavendish boasted and promised with childish enthusiasm.

Oliver grinned back. "Don't forget us bank robbers!"

"Them too!", Cavendish nodded.

He then resumed his speech. "And then… Then I'll meet the queen! And I'll get knighted!"

He bowed slightly and then, with a quieter, more hopeful voice, whispered "…I'll finally make my Dad proud…"

And then he shouted out. "And I'll be loved by ALL!"

His voice echoed and echoed, his declaration of universal adoration for himself reverberating across the trees.

Cavendish then almost slipped and Oliver caught him, setting him back on the branch.

"Careful, Mr. Hero! Don't want to die before the first day, now, do you?"

Cavendish laughed sheepishly, and soon the two boys sat in silence, observing the setting sun, peaceful.

Well…

Almost.

Oliver kept stealing glances at Cavendish, as if…

As if he wanted to tell him something.

"Balthy…", he finally roused the courage to open his mouth. "…You say you want to be loved by all… But…"

Cavendish didn't need him to finish. "I know, Ollie, but my mind keeps changing!"

He complained, his hands waving to all sides. "My Dad says it makes me weak and soft, but at the same time I can't help but feel like it would be totally fantastic to be loved by everyone! You know?"

Oliver smiled shyly. "Personally, I only need one person to love me."

Cavendish nodded. "Mums are pretty wicked."

Oliver shook his head, Cavendish missing the point as ever.

Cavendish then put his arm around Oliver.

"Thank you for being such a good listener, Ollie. I feel like I can tell you anything."

Oliver suddenly schooched a little closer, hands a little clammy, voice a little shy.

"Balthy…"

He was uncharacteristically quiet.

Cavendish looked back at his friend with a cheerful smile.

"Yes, Ollie?"

Oliver took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing for impact.

He had been preparing this question for months, ever since the two had met in boarding school and hit it off immediately.

He had rolled it over and over and over in countless math classes, physical education classes and sleepless nights.

God knows how many times his lips had uttered the unspoken question!

And now, he was going to belt it out.

What's the worst that could happen? Untimely rejection, eternal pain and the small matter of depression?

Well…

Here goes nothing.

"Balthy… Are you…"

He gulped.

"…Gay?"

His heart skipped a beat as Cavendish's face turned curious.

"…No… No I don't think so."

Oliver wanted to bury his face in his hands and burn all those teen magazines in the doctor's office, when suddenly…

"I mean… I'm not sure."

Oliver gave him a curious look in return.

"Not sure?"

Cavendish nodded slowly, thoughtful now, the still setting sun reflecting off of his glasses.

"I guess… I mean… I honestly don't know."

Suddenly he returned the question.

"Are you?"

Under any other circumstance, with any other person, Oliver would have denied.

Only his dad knew, and he was sure that only he would understand.

But here, in the shaded grove of the yew tree, with his best friend by his side, his face not judging but just wondering, he felt brave enough to say…

"…Yes."

Cavendish smiled simply. "Oh, ok."

Oliver wasn't sure why he was so worried. In fact, he knew that most of the world was quite more accepting these days.

But perhaps it wasn't Cavendish who was close minded…

But his dad.

"You don't think it's… Weird?", Oliver asked, and Cavendish shook his head.

"Nope! The world has changed for the better on that, Ollie!"

Oliver smiled, but Cavendish frowned as he continued.

"My world, though… Hasn't."

Oliver was sure he knew what he meant, but he decided to let Cavendish explain himself.

Cavendish's eyes turned distraught and his body language resigned and melancholic as he talked.

"My world smells of boot polish and gun powder. My world tastes of baked beans and disappointment. Its sounds are loud and disapproving, it's closed and limiting like a cage with no exit. My dad would lose his mind if I told him anything like that."

"He doesn't have much of a mind to lose, Balthy.", Oliver joked, and Cavendish couldn't help but laugh.

The two boys grew silent again, only the wind breaking said silence.

"…I think I might like both."

Oliver looked back silently and Cavendish looked back speaking.

"I fancy Maura for example."

Oliver nodded, knowing this to be true.

"But Mark's pretty fetching too.", Cavendish admitted quietly, feeling strangely ashamed, despite being next to his freshly out of the closet confidante.

"So… You're Bi?", Oliver asked, twiddling his thumbs.

Cavendish considered this, and shrugged. "I reckon."

Oliver nodded, but for different reasons. "Cool word."

The two kept staring at the distance.

"…I want to be loved, and maybe by a man.", Cavendish concluded, and he half laughed half sobbed.

"My dad would kick me into the middle of a warzone for that."

Oliver turned to Cavendish, a little bolder. "Then… Fuck him."

Cavendish was startled by the rude language, and he turned to Oliver reprimending

"Ollie! Watch your mouth!"

"Why?", Oliver asked, his bravery overpowering his insecurities. "We're our own people, not the tiny soldiers marching to your Dad's fife."

Oliver grasped Cavendish's hands, making the young lad blush.

"Balthy…", Oliver started, his heart in his throat. "You said you're not sure if you can have love. But your Dad's wrong!"

He got closer. "If that's what he thinks, then he's clearly a brain dead zombie with… With… With no brain, because life is all about love!"

He neared Cavendish again, his eyes deep and his breath warm.

Cavendish could feel it on his face and it steamed up his glasses.

Most weird of all?

He wasn't totally against it.

"Balthy… Balthazar…", Oliver whispered, his fingers caressing Cavendish's, making the spectacled boy warm.

"Life… Is about giving and receiving love. It's about…"

Oliver implemented the message to himself for once.

"It's about accepting that you love others… And that they love you. And that you want to make others feel loved… And that… You deserve to be loved…"

"I… I don't know if I do deserve it…", Cavendish admitted, but Oliver hushed him as he neared ever closer, lips almost touching.

"…Well… You've got me fooled."

The two boys giggled, and, inches apart, closed their eyes.

Lips pursed, hearts stopped, breaths bated…

They got closer and closer…

Until…

"BALTHAZAR. T. CAVENDISH!"

"Uh oh…", Cavendish whispered, and he looked down to meet the absolutely furious face of his father, disappointment and disapproval knitted all over his face.

Cavendish's father didn't need to say another word.

His cold, hard stare said it all.

Cavendish started to disembark the tree, and as he neared the ground he extended his hand to help Oliver down.

But before Oliver could take the hand, it was pulled away as Cavendish was grabbed by his father, who tried to restrain the squirming child.

"Dad, what are you doing?", Cavendish asked, but Chief Cavendish wouldn't say anything as he forcefully held his son, who kicked and swung wildly all over.

"Dad, wait, I want to say bye to Ollie…", Cavendish started, glasses now crooked on his head, confusion reigning supreme in his eyes.

"You are.", was the chilling answer, as the car doors were swung violently open and Cavendish was shoved in, the back of his head bonking the top of the car.

"Ow!", he rubbed his sore head, but clearly his father didn't care, as he slammed the door, silencing poor Cavendish immediately.

He then gruffly entered the seat, the thud of another slammed door making Cavendish jump in fright, a little too much in Chief Cavendish's mind.

"Settle the fuck down, boy!", he shouted, and the car revved up, spewing out smoke that obscured Oliver from view, still on the branch, still reaching out his hand, in the blind hope it would be taken by Cavendish, who stared hopelessly out the car window, tears in his eyes.

Cavendish would never get another chance to hold that hand.

* * *

1\. Some of you will note that this chapter (and chapter 3) do not feel like they're in the future. I delve deeper into this in the next chapter, but to clarify, the reason for all this is that Cavendish lives in a bubble of the past, and he doesn't get to live in the future, unlike his B.O.T.T time travel companions.

2\. There is a definite contrast between this chapter and most. The rest are very depressing, while this one is almost relaxing. This is a lot because until the end of the story, these are perhaps the only moments where Cavendish is himself.

3\. Some might find the game the kids play to be pretty dumb and not very fun sounding, but there is a good reason: These children are boarding school attendees, ones who are forced to live traditional lives. In other words, any freedom is good freedom.

4\. The floaty, almost magical tone is quite fun in this one! In general, I liked making this chapter a lot, though it really began to flow when we get to the tree.

5\. There is an intended vibe from the opening scene of "Toy Story".

6\. Cavendish, thanks to this story, has only become more complicated. He is egocentric, stuck up, pig headedly sure of himself, abject to criticism, averse to love and in general kind of a dickhead. However, his heart is good and he does mean well and deep down, he really wants to save people. He just needs some guidance and if he accepts the real Cavendish, he'll be well on his way to becoming a true hero. I must warn you, it will take some time in this story for Cavendish to truly become a good guy, but don't worry! He is a hero in the end!

7\. I don't think, I know, is easily one of the main themes of the AU. Confidence is key to anything, and these deeply unconfident people need to learn this.

8\. "You're doing it wrong" is a reference to Hermione saying this in "Harry Potter and the Philosophers/Sorcerer's stone".

9\. I really tried to get this slice of life British movie tone out of this scene. It was definitely different to my usual fare.

10\. A yew tree is the oldest tree in the UK. Basically, symbolism of Cavendish still being held back by tradition and living in the past.

11\. Cavendish getting stuck and needing help to get up (and complaining about it) is basically his whole arc: It's not that he isn't any good, it's not that he has no skills. But no man is an island; If Cavendish wants a good life, he needs to accept love.

12\. Oliver's last name is a tribute to Alan Turing, another homosexual British man who suffered due to who he was deep down.

13\. I must confess that I was thinking of making Oliver young Dakota for a while. However, not only would it be dumb, but also, Dakota has a… VERY tragic backstory, and let's just say he could never go to England. Bits of this backstory are revealed here, and in future stories, you will find out all of it.

14\. POKEMON REFERENCE IN ONE OF CAV'S LINES!

15\. Monsters (Pistachios), Aliens (Duh) and Maniacal Overlords (The Master)

16\. Notice that again, despite his heart being in the right place, Cavendish cares more for the honor and respect and adoration of being a hero, rather than the act of helping someone else.

17\. Cavendish's biggest conflict in the story is rather he should be loved or not. Thanks to his father, he is a toxic male, sure that he needs no one but himself, sure that emotion and kindness are weaknesses. The story demands that he learn to accept love, or he'll lose.

18\. Some might find the casual conversation about sexuality weird, but personally, I think kids are less particular about this kind of stuff until society or their families make them think it's weird.

19\. Reckon

20\. I hate saying this, but as much as I like Oliver, he never comes back. This is one of the tragedy's that shape Cavendish, and some scars never heal.

If you thought this chapter was heavy… HOO BOY, WAIT FOR 3!


	3. I Will Make You Proud

Warning: Child abuse and heavy themes explored. Viewer Discretion is advised.

* * *

BOOM!

"Wild storms here in Andover, a rarity for our fair town. Temperatures are actually dropping below zero!"

CRASH!

"Residents are advised to stay indoors and dress warmly, unless you want a cold shoulder!"

FLASH!

The windshield wiped and wiped the pouring rain away, the monotone swishing becoming the dominant genre of music in the vehicle.

Watching the droplets of rain pitter patter down his window, Cavendish tried his best to focus only on the storm and the quickly departing images that the car passed.

Quickly departing…

Like Ollie…

"Don't think about it.", he ordered, after feeling a pang of pain in his heart.

He looked over at his father, who had said nothing the entire journey, aside from silent huffs that sent a jolt down Cavendish's spine every single time they were uttered.

Poor Cavendish didn't even have the time to comprehend his feelings for Oliver, or the fact that he might be Bi, or the fact that he almost kissed his best friend…

Who he was never going to see again…

Hitting his head slightly on the window, Cavendish cursed his mind for reminding him of what he was about to lose.

Forever.

"Quiet!", a sudden, loud and frightening command came from the front seat, and Cavendish fidgeted slightly before silencing, allowing a very small sigh to escape his frozen lips.

Thanks to the sudden change in weather and his boarding school outfit now a little lacking for such extreme temperatures, he shivered and shook, his bones chattering as well as his teeth.

His tears would have been icicles, if he hadn't already cried them all out.

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity but was really only 8 minutes, the car began to approach its destination: The Cavendish Household.

Despite literally living in the future, Andover was one of the few towns that hadn't really changed in all those years: In fact, it still sort of looked like it lived in the 20th century.

Cavendish had always been jealous of other towns and cities when he read about them in the official B.O.T.T magazine. Cities like New York, London, Danville… They got to have robots everywhere, a flying car in each garage and incredible technologies like teleportation devices and holograms!

Not to mention time travellers!

Oh, how Cavendish admired them: Tireless men and women who protected the time stream from maniacal villains! Who stood for Truth, Justice and Loyalty to mankind!

All thanks to the one Cavendish admired most: Professor Time (otherwise known as Heinz Doofensmhirtz)!

Now, that was someone Cavendish wanted to be like!

But Andover, unfortunately, was not like that.

The streets were populated not with robots, but with traffic cops and street signs.

The car he was utterly and completely alone in couldn't fly, let alone soar through the clouds, soothing his stormy soul.

And instead of teleportation and hologram devices, all Cavendish had in his sights was the ancient and not very inviting house he lived in, with its white walls and small frame, almost too small to belong to a man this important…

And the back of his furious father, who slammed the door again, bringing Cavendish back to reality.

He wasn't in the future.

He was very unfortunately in the present.

"Balthazar, is that you, sweetie?", a voice called out from the kitchen.

As the voice walked in, it took the shape of a short and stout woman, whose heart was filled with kindness and gentleness.

She was wearing a bright orange blouse, a purple skirt and slip on shoes, and her soothing face was complimented with curly honey blonde hair that looked just like Cavendish's.

"Dinner should be almost…", she started, holding a spoon, which she ended up dropping onto the ground from surprise.

"Oh…", she exclaimed, an expression of… Disappointment? Fear? Resignation? Spreading on her face when the grown up Cavendish crossed her.

"You're back early."

But Chief Cavendish refused to even glance at her, instead dragging little Cavendish by the ear into his room.

"Dad, OW! Please stop…", Cavendish cried, but it fell onto deaf ears as Chief Cavendish opened his room's door, anger still engrossing his soul.

Cavendish's mother tried to stop the fight. "Let go of him this instant! I won't let you…"

But Chief Cavendish turned to her with such rage and intensity, with such madness in his eyes, that she knew she couldn't do a thing…

Lest he go so far as to cripple her.

So, to her massive regret, she stayed silent and ashamed as Chief Cavendish slammed the door behind him, leaving him with his heartbroken son who was tending to his ear.

Silence reigned and for a few moments, Cavendish wasn't sure what was supposed to happen.

Was he supposed to talk? Did Dad want to talk first? Was he supposed to apologize?

Cavendish gulped. He knew how his father could get when angered. It was best to apologize now before something happened.

Sitting on his small and incredibly uncomfortable looking bad, a small and incredibly uncomfortable Cavendish started to apologize.

"Dad…", he started, already feeling a dry and sticky sensation in his throat, the tears that were trapped in there poised for a comeback. "…I'm sorry I cut scho…"

"This isn't about cutting school.", Cavendish's Dad said sharply, towering over his boy as ever, a long and hard shadow cast over the cold and hungry boy.

He started to walk back to the door, almost as if he was leaving, but to Cavendish's misfortune, he stopped and stood with his back to the boy.

"…Dad, if it's about Oliver…"

"My son, the fruit. Didn't think I'd see the day.", the rage was somehow silent and barely concealed, fists clenched and shaking as he tried in vain to contain his anger.

Cavendish then made a huge mistake: He tried to correct his father.

"Well, actually, Dad, I'm Bi-sexual… I think… You see, I like both…"

The seething scream that erupted was one he didn't see coming. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, BOY!"

Chief Cavendish was flared up almost, his face almost red as he neared the boy, making him flinch.

"Look at you. The smallest hint of a threat, and you flinch like a fucking coward."

He raised his fist for a moment, making Cavendish cower some more, shaking now not just from the cold.

"I don't give a shit about your sexual orientation, boy."

Cavendish's father gripped him by the shoulders, his fingers pressing down, hurting his son.

"And I don't give a shit about cutting school, though both things are disgraces you have brought down on me!"

Cavendish tried not to cry, but tears were already running down.

He couldn't help it, he was a crier, always had been. Once something went wrong, the tear ducts would burst open, showing his face with droplets of pain.

"I'm sorry…"

A slap connected to his skin, ringing in his ears, leaving a bright red mark that stung as Cavendish tried to sooth it.

"You don't even fucking know what you're sorry for, boy!"

Cavendish's Father turned around, breathing heavily, rapidly.

"And stop fucking crying! You're supposed to be a man!"

Hot air bounded out of his mouth, and his veins throbbed wildly.

"I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: You are supposed to be a man."

He kept his back to Cavendish, which only made the child even more tense: Was he calming down or not? Was it safe to calm down too or not?

"And you can't be a man if you tie yourself to other people."

Cavendish wasn't sure he understood. "…Um… I'm not sure I get what you…"

"LOVE, BOY! YOU CAN'T BE A MAN IF YOU LOVE!"

Cavendish's Father was almost swollen with rage, and Cavendish backed up in his bed, reaching the wall.

"Love is an illusion! A trick that turns us soft and weak! It blinds you from what's important!"

Cavendish wasn't sure he could take anymore of this, especially when his Father was so wrong.

"A man needs to look out for himself, Balthazar! A man needs to be strong, tough, invincible! Self sustaining! Standing alone against those who wish to harm him!"

Cavendish's Father was shouting fiercely, almost hoarse now. "A man doesn't need help or support! He does that himself!

"Who says?", Cavendish actually fought back, surprising even himself, and he immediately covered his mouth with his hands, but it was too late.

"Don't you FUCKING talk back to me, you little shit!", Cavendish's father bellowed again, another slap to poor Cavendish's face, who sniveled and sniffed.

"Stop. Crying.", he ordered again.

"I'm… I'm, I'm, I'm tr… Trying…", Cavendish forced between sobs.

"Look at you: You're a failure at school. Your physical grades are nothing short of embarrassing! You keep cutting school, you help your mother in the house when I'm gone, you let yourself get pushed around like some kind of baby!"

Cavendish's Father was boiling mad now.

"And now you're kissing your pansy friend!"

"So what? Oliver is my friend!", Cavendish shouted back, and Cavendish's Father responded by punching the door.

"Over my dead body he is!"

Finally turning after a few moments of silence, Cavendish's Father delivered him the ultimatum.

"Boy… You are supposed to be the best of the best! You are supposed to be the strongest in the room, always knowing better, always in charge. It is you who keeps your world from falling into madness. You and you alone are the master of your destiny. You can't be the man of your life if you stand down!"

"You're wrong! I'm not standing down! I want to work for B.O.T.T and save people, just like you do at work! I want to kill all the bad guys and be loved by all! I want to be a hero!"

Cavendish's Father was almost impressed with the commitment Cavendish had to who he was.

He turned with a terrifying scowl.

"…So… You think you know better, don't you? You think you know better than your old man?"

Cavendish was afraid of nodding, but…

"Answer me!"

He had to.

Cavendish's Father almost laughed, and it sent a chill down Cavendish's spine.

"Ok, boy. You know what? I'll give you a fighting chance. I did say I want you to stand up."

Suddenly, he raised his fists and with his eyes, invited Cavendish to come closer.

"…Hit me."

Cavendish gasped, shocked at the progression of events.

"What?", he asked, startled beyond belief.

The room suddenly grew very small, and all Cavendish could see was his fearsome Father call him up for a fight.

"Come on, you little worm! Hit me! Give me your best shot!"

Cavendish shook his head.

"You want to be a time traveller, no? You want to be your own man, no? To be with that pansy boy, no? You think I'm wrong, no?"

Cavendish had to nod again.

Cavendish's Father growled. "Then if that's what you believe in, hit me! Stop me from stopping you! Fight for what you believe in, even if it's misguided!"

Cavendish desperately wanted to.

He wanted to punish his Father for all those years of pain and suffering.

He stood up, his knees weak, his joints shaking wildly.

But his eyes were nearly rage filled as he thought of all the years of pain.

"That's it, boy, that's better! Now step up and fight me! Hurt me, like I deserve!"

As Cavendish walked up, still shaking like mad, he remembered all the punches and slaps, all the put downs and insults.

He remembered being called a disappointment in front of all of Dad's military friends.

He remembered being shouted at in front of his friends at school for failing the physical examinations.

He remembered being kicked and whacked and spat on and punched hundreds and thousands of times.

He could feel the small scars and wounds that covered his body inflame as he stepped up, ready to teach his Father a lesson.

"Come on, boy! Ready that fist! Hit me where it hurts!", Cavendish's Father cried, flames in his eyes as he finally saw what kind of man his son could be.

Cavendish wanted it so badly…

"Release your anger!"

Cavendish wanted it SO badly…

"DO IT!"

"I want it… SO badly…", Cavendish thought, his clenched fists almost raised, almost ready to connect with the man he hated so much.

"STAND UP FOR WHO YOU ARE!"

But…

But…

Despite all his hate for him, despite wanting to avenge all those years…

Cavendish just wasn't that kind of person.

All his talk of killing monsters and aliens, and Cavendish couldn't even hurt his bastard of a Father.

He just couldn't.

Cavendish slowly lowered his fists…

Tears ran down like a river…

And he apologized.

"…I'm sorry, Dad…"

He wiped his nose.

"…I'm sor…"

But he couldn't even finish that.

SMACK!

A hard as wood punch connected and Cavendish went flying, blood spurting out of his mouth as one of his teeth flew out into the air, his tiny body smashing into the wall, nearly making him faint.

His eyes were covered with spots, he felt nothing and everything, and his mouth was now filling with blood from the gaping hole in his teeth.

Cavendish's Father, merely wiping the blood of his own son on his trousers, walked up to him and viewed him with disgust and contempt.

"You can't even stand up for what's wrong.", he said, and he spat on him.

He turned around and began to leave, but not before leaving him with a final warning.

"You better fucking shape up, you little nothing. You better grow up and become a man…"

He turned to him with a serious frown, grave and devoid of all emotion.

"…Or you'll never be happy."

He left, but not before muttering "Goddamn disappointment…" as he closed the door and lumbered down the hall.

Cavendish's Mom, weeping next to the door, wanted to come in and comfort him.

But she knew that her… Husband would never let her.

She sighed morosely, feeling guilty as she returned to the kitchen.

She'd have to help her son tomorrow.

But even that would be too late…

Whimpering and sobbing into the night, Balthazar T. Cavendish, son of Balthazar Cavendish Sr. and Anita Cavendish, felt utterly lost and alone.

His cries were heard by no one but himself, as his pillow got covered in tears, blood still spewing slightly from his mouth, his whole self feeling dead in this wretched existence he called life.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…", he kept whispering between sobs, as he stood up and looked at his poster of Professor Time, even his warm and encouraging smile failing to reignite the hope in poor Cavendish's heart.

Cavendish at first wanted to fight back. He wanted to go back outside and show his Father what for.

But he knew now that he was nothing but a sniveling coward, a failure who couldn't even speak for himself.

Did that mean…

"Is Dad right?", Cavendish thought, asking Professor Time, but also himself. "Am I really just a disappointment?"

The poster didn't answer, but Cavendish did.

"I must be. I couldn't even hit him when I wanted to. And I wanted to so badly!"

Rage mixed in with the cries and Cavendish nearly growled.

"I wanted to bash his nose in, see if he likes it!"

Cavendish sighed, the darkened room closing in on him, no sounds heard but the rapid beating of his heart.

"But I couldn't."

Cavendish sniffed, feeling more tears come down. "He was right… I really am just a nothing. I'll never be a hero like you, Professor Time. I'm just a pansy weakling."

Cavendish was on his knees, almost apologizing to God. "I could never be as strong and tough and smart as Dad! I could never take charge! I could never kill any aliens or monsters or anything!"

He bowed his head down. "I'm no hero; I'm a failure."

"I'm…", he stuttered, feeling his heart hurt. "I'm not the son my Dad wants. I'm not a man."

But with this admission came an idea.

An idea that would forever change Cavendish's life…

But for the better, it was not.

"…But…", he started, eyes filling with hope as his mind worked over time.

"What if I was?"

He started talking quickly, the idea grabbing hold of his childlike excitement.

"What if I was the son my Dad wants? What if I was smart and tough and strong? What if I took charge, and thought I knew better, and didn't cry and stood tall?"

He posed on his bed, feeling a surge of energy like never before. "I'll show him! I'll be even tougher than him! Even manlier than him! I don't need anybody, not even Oliver!"

A hint of sadness was in his tone, but he was too far in now.

"Yes, yes! Dad would be so proud! I'd be alone and independent, facing swarms of enemies on my own, leaping into action without a single thought, always right, always good, never mocked and never loved, because they'd respect me! They have to!"

He almost shouted it out, proud of his discovery.

"I'm a man!"

He turned around, his heart swelling with pride and confidence as he looked at the "Join B.O.T.T." poster, shining like a beacon of hope against the terrible darkness of the night.

"I don't need other people! I have myself! I am Balthazar Cavendish, and I am the best in the world!"

He saluted the poster and felt tears come down, but now they were of joy and hope.

"You'll see, Dad…", he whispered, almost in a prayer, wiping the blood from his mouth.

"…I'll make you proud…"

The faint sound of music started, and "Let Me Make You Proud" by Jeremy Jordan began playing as 10 Year Old Cavendish strode around his bed, his cape now flowing instead of drooping.

10 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish:

Maybe I Make Things A Mess…

(Cavendish looked down, ashamed)

And Maybe You're Right To Have Doubts In Me…

(Cavendish looked at the door, cold and imposing, shutting him out)

Maybe, But Nevertheless…

(Cavendish looks at the door pleadingly, almost begging for a chance)

If You For Once Could Just Trust Me!

(Cavendish tightened his cape and stood tall, trying to feel manly)

Just This Once, Let Me Come Through For You…

(Cavendish saluted his not there Father, making a vow he will regret for the rest of his life)

The Way That You Want Me To…

(The scene suddenly changes, showing the next day as Cavendish obediently goes to boarding school, his eyes on the prize and on nothing else…)

(Not even Oliver, who bows his head, heartbroken)

Let Me Make You Proud!

(Cavendish sings aloud as he works his ass off on test after test, on improving his shape, though he never stops being thin as a stick, and on separating himself from all others, as he becomes more and more egotistical and over confident)

Let Me Show You The Best In Me!

(In a boxing match the school organizes, Cavendish must fight Ronald, the strong boy at school. Cavendish doesn't want to go all out, but his Father orders him too, and, all too eager to please, Cavendish beats the living snot out of Ronald, earning his Father's pride, but nothing else)

Let Me Give You A Reason To Believe That I Can Stand Tall!

(Cavendish sees Oliver's family move things into their car, preparing to leave the country for a better place)

(Oliver comes to say goodbye…)

(But under his Father's watchful eye, Cavendish ignores his old friend)

(Broken beyond repair, Oliver silently leaves with his family…)

(…Never to return)

(Cavendish smiles as Cavendish Sr. finally gives him a smile of approval, basking in his Father's glow)

(The scene suddenly changes, and years have passed)

(Balthazar Cavendish, now 20 years old, taller, leaner, thick eyebrows, his short, honey-blond hair with bangs that part in the middle and curve up at the sides, a deep-blue, futuristic-looking top that has a thick, olive green collar that extends down his chest with three dark circles presented vertically down the collar, long sleeves, with short secondary sleeves in the same olive green color, and two stripes at each wrist, with another around his waist like a belt. The main portion of the outfit extends behind him in a fashion reminiscent of coat-tails, and under this, he wears a pair of white pants tucked into a pair of knee-high black boots with grey cuffs)

(He is leaving to America to enroll as an intern and as a prospective member of the academy, and is on a pier, about to embark on a ship)

20 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish

And When I Return…

(Cavendish doesn't smile or hug or even shake his parent's hands. Instead, he just salutes with a serious face, grave and emotionless, as Cavendish Sr. nods proudly and decisively, and Anita Cavendish cries softly for her baby boy, who's changed, perhaps forever)

And I'm More Than You'd Dreamt I'd Be…

(Cavendish gets on the ship and, when he turns around, has a giddy smile, sure that he's on his way to being the man his father wants, and the hero he dreams of being)

(He pumps his fist, a picture of Oliver that he kept with him even through all those years floating away back to Cavendish Sr., who crushes it determindly)

Maybe Then You Will Realize That You Never Actually Knew Me At All!

(As an instrumental break plays, Cavendish arrives at Danville, in the year

2151

September 12

(Ready to apply for an internship and Academy training in The Bureau of Time Travel)

(Despite his new attitude, he can't help but marvel and gawk at the sights and sounds of the city, the incredibly clean air, sky high skyscrapers and golden monuments filling the horizon, a feeling of destiny rising in his chest)

(He enters the Bureau, walking on a marble floor, passing white walls, underneath a sky blue ceiling)

(After passing a group of school children who seemed a tad unruly, making him scoff, he finally managed to find a worker, who instructed him to keep going left until he reached the office of Ms. Barrier)

(As he did so, a funny looking Janitor with brown hair and a warm smile tipped his hat)

(Cavendish ignored him. He doubted he'd ever see him again)

(How wrong he was)

(After applying, we skip forwards and see ourselves in an Academy class, the polished egg shell white walls and sparkling white floors painting perhaps too pure an image)

(Cavendish and 19 other students, one of which was Brick, looking exactly the same as he would in 25 years, began their training, all holding blasters)

20 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish:

Sure I've Made Lots Of Mistakes…

(Cavendish's blaster keeps misfiring, and he almost shoots Brick's hair clean off, the tuxedo wearing young man now combing it back to perfection)

I Know That I've Disappointed You…

(Cavendish sighs and hangs his head low, feeling his Father's disapproval. He should be getting it right from the first try)

Still Though Whatever It Takes…

(Ms. Barrier steps in and orders him to focus and grasp the blaster properly, to just take the shot and care about the consequences later)

I'm Gonna Fix It, Just Watch Me!

(Cavendish nods and shoots properly at his target, a sort of coldness in his eyes that would struggle to leave for the next 25 years…)

23 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish:

Just You Wait…

(3 years later, Cavendish is still struggling, falling asleep on a written exam, feeling ashamed when called out)

27 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish:

I'll Make It Up To You…

(4 years later, Cavendish is still trying to graduate, reading book after book, when he spots a cat up a tree)

(He feels bad at first, but he has no time for such frivolities. So he ignores the cat, leaving it to suffer)

(His future is way more important that some kitty cat)

32 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish:

If It's The Last Thing I Ever Do!

(5 years later, Cavendish participates in a training simulation, and while his form needs work, Barrier nods approvingly at his no nonsense attitude, "Shoot first, ask questions later" philosophy and his heightened sense of importance, as he sneers at the newbie agents who do worse than him)

37 Year Old Balthazar Cavendish:

I Will Make You Proud…

(5 years later again, Cavendish is acing his tests and showing skill on the field. He's clearly made for smaller, nonsensical jobs, ones that require just following orders, but Barrier and Block agree that one day, he could be a fine asset, taking down those who don't cooperate and keeping them in power by feeling the need to lick their boots all the time)

(In other words, Cavendish is the perfect employee: Works like a dog, prepared to do anything, and blindly keeping them at the top)

I Will Make You Have Faith In Me…

(Cavendish writes home with pride and joy, reporting of his graduation, earning another proud answer from his Father)

(But a simulation goes awry: Cavendish is tasked with killing an obstacle, but he can't do it. He can barely muster a beatdown, as he feels that there is something… Wrong about that)

(His good side is still present, despite his best efforts)

(The 10 Year Old Boy with love in his heart isn't dead yet)

I Will Prove That The Way I Used To Be, Is All In The Past…

(Barrier wants to kick him out, but Block offers a solution: Give Cavendish a menial task anyone could perform, but something absolutely stupid. If he follows through and takes it seriously just for a little praise, he'd do anything!)

(And so…)

I Will Save The Day…

(After a test mission in 2009, Cavendish is summoned to Block's office to accept his new "mission")

(As Block cackles gleefully at the new slave he and the Bureau have acquired, a soldier who would do anything for them, and thus, the perfect pawn, Cavendish shakes hands with his partner: Vinnie Dakota)

And Come Back Here Triumphantly…

(But as Cavendish imagines a victorious return to home once he gets this stupid thing done, things don't go according to plan: The Pistachios vex him, and he fails time and time again, he grows more and more exasperated as even the simplest tasks become failures, thus making him a miserable shell of a man, and most importantly, Dakota begins to free Cavendish's true self, allowing him to be kind, caring and good again)

(And that is a problem)

'Cause I Long For That Look Of Surprise When You See Your Son Rising At Last…

(It's 7 years later and Cavendish has actually done it: He's fallen for a man. He's kissed a man. He's grown to care for others)

(And the guilt is eating away at him)

(What would Father say?)

(And now it's a year later, and Cavendish and Dakota are in a rough patch)

(And Dakota asks a question: Do You Love Me?)

The Pride In Your Eyes When You See Your Son Rising At Last!...

(And as the last note stretches and stretches, Cavendish's mind races with thoughts and lines, Dakota and his Father fighting for control of his heart):

"How DARE you, boy?!"

"I'll always be there for you, Cavendish!"

"You said you'd make me proud!"

"You don't HAVE to be a man, Cavendish!"

"I say how your story goes, boy!"

"You're free to make your own path!"

"You're soft! You're nothing! Just like I thought!"

"I love you, Balthy!"

But finally, it's his Father who wins:

"…I am disappointed in you, boy. But it's not too late… NOW MAKE. ME. PROUD! BE. A. MAN!"

And Cavendish answers Dakota's question:

"I DON'T KNOW!"

The music stops.

Dakota stands there, pain in his eyes.

Cavendish stands there, resignation in his.

"I… I don't know…"

Dakota leaves wordlessly, and Cavendish sees everything else leave wordlessly.

The kids he'd grown to care for.

The people he'd grown to care for.

The things he'd grown to care for.

All he has now is a blaster in his pocket and a hole in his heart.

All he can feel is pain.

All he is…

Is alone.

* * *

The scene shifts and we see Cavendish sit alone in the apartment, the lights off, darkness washing him over, the words "Make You Proud" playing over and over and over in a loop on the broken radio.

His knees are close together, his shivers introduce the cold breeze that has invaded the room, and his face is a portrait of utter loneliness.

Is this what Father meant?

Is this being a man was like?

Was this…

The right way?

* * *

Meanwhile…

OCTOBER 29TH, 2017, ABANDONED WAREHOUSE IN DANVILLE

"Norikoeru beki wa Satsugai Kyoufu" from Mirai Nikki (Future Diary) (11 minute version) starts playing, its threatening electronic beeps and boops, its artificial feelings echoing across the faces of the Seven Hearts Club.

These seven figures, clad in black, hoods over their faces, exchange looks, worried of the coming storm.

The first one, tall, thin, unsure, crossed its arms, conflicted.

"Tomorrow it's five days. Does he not need us to help him?"

A fact everyone knows all too well, but no one dares say that.

A second figure, also tall, but wider, burlier, well built and muscular, speaks next.

"Has he not suffered enough? He'd do the same if we were in this situation."

The first figure nods, wanting nothing more than to help the man who had helped them all so much.

A third figure, barrel chested and short, cuts the silence with its own argument.

"Help, shmelp! He is what we want, plain and simple: And when you want something, you take it. I propose we go NOW."

The third figures orders are countered by the fourth figure, a tall and well built individual, but with softer features than the second, who speaks surprisingly passionately, despite his usual… Seriousness.

"I disagree! What he needs is someone to save him from this terrible partner!"

The fifth figure, tall, dark, and mysterious, leaving almost no shadow, adds his part to the conversation.

"…Can we get to the part where I please him orally?"

The sixth figure, shivering in disgust and fear, thin, small and monotone, speaks with a great feeling of shame.

This figure was supposed to be good.

But it wasn't.

"…He's suffering. Should we not help?"

And then that's when the Seventh Shadowy Figure stepped in, his thunderous steps and inhuman voice spreading immediate fear and alarm in the six others.

"Oh… His suffering will be cut short."

His tone is near metallic, and his breath is cold, as is his whole body.

He shines in the darkness, but only his eyes and smile can be seen.

Red, blazing eyes shone from near the ceiling, that as how tall the thing was…

And a malicious, psychopathic, near murderous grin is etched across his face as he strokes the image of Dakota that hangs on the wall.

"Soon, Cavendish will be… Removed from the equation…"

"We will not kill him.", the six figures responded immediately, and the seventh merely chuckled.

"Oh, promises, promises…", The Seventh echoed, sending a chill down everyone's spines.

The Seventh stopped chuckling and with determination, removed Dakota's image, bouncing it lightly on his jerky digits and palm.

"Tomorrow… We strike. Tomorrow…"

He lowered his voice to a whisper, talking more to himself than to anyone.

Talking to the man of his past.

"…Vinnie Dakota… Is ours…"

The six others, hesitatingly, raised their fists in salute, and the Seventh lightly chuckled again as he clenched his fist, crushing the image.

"Who can POSSIBLY stop us? Stop me from getting you, Vinnie?"

And the last word was uttered, dripping like honey:

"Who?"

* * *

And as the music echoed out, Cavendish was seen again in his room, sighing.

"Well, Father… I did what you said. I cut everything off, and I became a man. Just like you wanted."

He sniffed.

"I hope you're proud…"

He choked on tears he had suppressed for so long.

"I just… I don't understand."

And finally, a tear fell, almost like a sliver of who Cavendish really is tried to sneak through the fake mask he had put on, as he asked a question that would change his life:

"Why am I not happy?"


	4. Like A Circle Witin A Spiral

(Darkness)

(During the time the logo plays, "The Windmills of Your Mind" by Noel Harrison plays its first verse, sung by a yet unseen man)

(In quick succession, we see images flash by, moments from Cavendish's life, past and present, in a logo: Cavendish being born (_Round)_, His Father looking on disapprovingly as he spends time with Oliver (_Like A Circle)_, Cavendish helping his mother make dinner (_In A Spiral)_, Cavendish almost kissing Oliver on the tree branch (_Like A Wheel_), Cavendish's Father punching him and telling him to be a man (_Within A Wheel) _, Cavendish losing Oliver (_Never Ending_), Cavendish joining B.O.T.T (_Or Beginning_), Cavendish refusing to kill a criminal (_On An Ever_), Cavendish shaking hands with Dakota (_Spinning Reel)_, Cavendish and Dakota constantly failing (_Like A Snowball_), Cavendish and Dakota being there for each other over the years (_Down A Mountain_), Dakota saving Cavendish's life multiple times (_Or A Carnival Balloon_), Cavendish suspecting Milo of being an enemy agent (_Like A Carousel That's Turnin', Running Rings Around The Moon_), Cavendish and Dakota fighting the evil circles (Diameter Part 3) (_Like A Clock_), Cavendish and Dakota fighting King Pistachion and Derek (_Whose Hands Are Sweeping Past The Minutes Of Its Face_), Cavendish getting exiled (_And The World Is Like An Apple_), Cavendish deserting Dakota to fight the aliens and getting frozen (_Whirling Silently In Space_), Cavendish and Dakota getting together with a kiss by Cavendish on Dakota's cheek (Homosexual Part 1) (_Like_), Cavendish and Dakota playing cards (_The_), picnicking and laughing thanks to the television (_Circles_), Cavendish becoming moody and resentful and selfish again (Bowling For You and This Date Must Be Perfect!) (_That You Find_) and Cavendish, despite trying, pushing Dakota and everyone else away… Alone. Forever. (This Date Must Be Perfect) (_In The Windmills Of Your Mind…_))

(Finally, the images part, and the words form a logo:

The Milo Murphy's Law Wiki Guy AU Presents:

Balthazar Cavendish VS The World

* * *

(The person steps out of the darkness, the lights revealing that it is Danville's main street, and that he is Serendipitacely, the number one Dakavendish shipper)

He makes his teary exit, and replacing him is Balthazar Cavendish.

Now 45 years old, Cavendish is somehow worse off in every way: He's more egotistical, he refuses to give and receive love, and he's buried it so deep that he has no idea that he's doing it all to make his father proud.

In short, he's a dumpster fire with legs.

Which is honestly an insult to actual dumpster fires with legs, they're way better at handling this kind of stuff.

Cavendish sighs, his stomach wincing as he catches the scent of freshly baked bread from the local bakery.

He clutches his aching gut, and a shiver runs down his spine as he can't help but wonder why someone who doesn't care about being alone is starving himself.

Blinking his eyes, trying to somehow remember the date, Cavendish walks down the echoing pavement, totally and utterly alone.

By choice, it would seem.

Finally managing to string two coherent thoughts together, Cavendish's eyes widen, if for a moment, when he realizes that he hasn't eaten almost anything in five days, having mostly sustained himself on stale crackers and the occasion glass of water.

One did not need to be a doctor to tell this, though; The signs were all there.

Whether it was his even thinner figure (what was once a stick was beginning to resemble a twig), his bag filled eyes (Cavendish sometimes counted 8, sometimes 15. To be fair, his mind was quite… Achey Breaky not workey), or his depressed and spiteful demaener (clearly evidenced by tripping on a bowl of spaghetti, which he then shot with his gun multiple times), even the least observant readers in the world could tell that barely anything had gone into his mouth in a while.

But Cavendish could tell you why he was malnourished, once he unstuck his dry, cracked lips of course: Dakota.

Well, not Dakota persay. More like his presence.

And again, a shiver ran down his rusty spine, causing Cavendish to shiver audibly, alerting the attention of 2 pairs of curious eyes.

Cavendish turned to note the unexpected guests: A boy and a girl named Alex and Anna.

The former was adorned with an orange T-Shirt, a lighter long sleeved shirt and jean shorts, all nestled under dark brown hair that barely reached his forehead.

The latter, a tall African American with a checkered under shirt and a purple dress, all neatly organized under a slightly messy collection of black hair, tied up with a literal bow.

The two children seemed to be staring in concern, but to Cavendish, any attention that wasn't positive was an attack on his life.

He had enough shit to carry, what with his guilt, or not, or yes, or not…

"Argh!", he yelled out in frustration, desperately wanting to forget what a prick he was to Dakota…

"No, I wasn't a prick, I wasn't! I just… I don't need to…", Cavendish started to fight with himself, before realizing that he was doing this in front of complete strangers.

Flushing from embarrassment and frustration, Cavendish, wanting nothing more than to forget, turned to the children.

He hoped he could get them off his back with a half apology (since he didn't really care, but he also did, but… Enough!)

"Look, I'm sorry I shout…"

But Cavendish had worsened the cracks in his lips for no reason: They were gone.

Like, completely, without a trace.

As if they were ghosts in his mind, faint memories that were there to remind him that…

Cavendish blocked his ears, trying to ignore.

SO desperately trying to ignore.

Looking up, he suddenly found himself in Josh's Convenience store.

This was odd.

Oh, not going to the store: He had planned to do that.

But the store was another block away!

Had he…

Had he walked all the way there?

Or was he dreaming?

"No…", Cavendish sighed regretfully, taking a shopping cart and filing in. "If I was, Dakota would be here."

Before he could continue, he kicked himself in the leg, trying to violently force the guilt out of the forefronts of his mind.

After all, there was NOTHING to be guilty for!

He hadn't done anything to ruin his relationship with Dakota!

…At least, he didn't think he did.

Seeds of doubt sprouted again as Cavendish ran it all over in his mind for what must have been the millionth time: He had taken Dakota out on a date 5 days ago ("Heh. More like 5 centuries ago.", he coldly chuckled), in the attempt to fix something Cavendish didn't think needed fixing.

And somehow, along the way, Cavendish had ruined everything.

Dakota had claimed that night that he had "checked himself out". That he had "Stopped giving and receiving love" and that he "always had to be right", alongside other baseless charges.

And at first, Cavendish had refused to believe them.

After all, he is BALTHAZAR CAVENDISH!

Time Traveller First Class!

Conqueror of the Pistachions and the Aliens!

Protector of the 20th century!

And a full grown man, big boy trousers and all!

Why, he even went to the bank all on his very own!

He should be proud!

…Then why was there this nagging feeling that something was amiss?

That, heaven forbid!... Dakota had a point.

Cavendish closed his eyes in pain, trying to quiet the two voices that had been wrestling in his mind for the past 5 days, but neither would budge in their mental wrestling match of doom.

"…Odd analogy. Clearly my mind isn't functioning.", thought Cavendish, or, at least, he tried: It was hard to think when two loud voices kept claiming that you were both the best man ever and the worst person in the world.

Fingers slightly shaking on the fading red paint of the cart handle, its squeaky wheels rattling on the floor in monotonus fashion, Cavendish passed aisle after aisle, aimless and distant, his mind a million miles away from the grocery store.

Soup aisle.

Clothes aisle.

You are the reason your life sucks aisle.

"That's new. Wonder if the beefaroni is on sale there.", Cavendish thought, not realizing the obvious fact in front of him: OF COURSE the beefaroni isn't on sale.

Josh is a real curmudgeon.

Oh, and there is no such aisle.

But his fleeting sanity was far less important than distracting himself from his guilt.

Taking a deep breath and puffing up his chest, which hurt, Cavendish tried his best to muscle through the pain.

As Dad would say, Cavendish just needed to emotionally distance himself from the problem, and Voila! It would stop being a problem!

Closing his eyes and breathing heavily, his ribs immediately colliding with his chest, Cavendish tried to ignore now two different kinds of pain and focus on what is important: Himself.

"Yes, Balthazar, this seems bad now, but it is good for you in the long run.", a gruff, old voice whispered in his ear. "Now that you dumped that pathetic pansy "man" where he belongs, you can finally focus on making me proud!"

Cavendish felt an overpowering urge from deep within him to do this, which confused him to no end: He hated his father with a vengeance.

Why the hell was that monsters opinion so important to him?

To be fair, though, it wasn't Cavendish exactly who was thinking these thoughts; They were being whispered to him in his left ear by a very Dakota looking spirit.

"Balthy, you and I both know that you're suffering. If you keep denying it, you'll only hurt yourself even more! Look at you!", the spirit pointed at the nearly lifeless belly and noodle arms that could barely muster a movement. "You're malnourished, and badly!"

"Pish posh!", Cavendish's Father objected, stepping out of Cavendish's right ear. "The boy is just adjusting to a better life without you! Without others!"

He leaned in to Cavendish, enticing him with his words of temptation. "Think about it, boy! No more distractions or obstacles on the road to being a hero! You will be respected, like you always wanted!"

Cavendish DID like the sound of that, his smile quite telling.

But the REAL Cavendish wasn't going down without a fight: The trauma of that night with Dakota was still fresh, and the wound could still burn his soul with consequences and regret.

"WAKE UP!", Spirit Dakota screamed in Cavendish's ear, making Cavendish karate chop a mountain of a man.

Grinning sheepishly, Cavendish tipped his hat at the surely illegal amount of deltoids and pectorals in front of him.

"Morning…", he greeted, waving slowly, bracing for the…

BANG!

There it is!

Cavendish was sent flying into the fruit stand, an apricot in every ear and a banana in his mouth.

"How mature of you.", Cavendish sarcastically chided the author, who shrugged.

"Stay away from the literal and figurative fruits, boy!", his Father ordered, and despite his cold stare, Cavendish found he legs working anyway, slowly moving off of the stand and…

"No! Don't deny your true self, Balthy! It's not too late to make things right!"

Cavendish was getting sick and tired of this, and he blocked his ears, but to no avail.

"He's done nothing wrong!"

"Yes. He. Has!"

"Stay off of him, you pathetic child! Balthazar MUST be a man!"

"You wouldn't know what a man is if he chopped off your legs and made a one man comedy show with them!"

"Oh, I do know someone like that! His show is rather successful and he's got a weekly podcast! I don't listen to it because I always pretend like I'll make the time for it!"

"In all fairness, I think everyone kind of does that, so that's not on you!"

"QUIET!", Cavendish shouted out, earning more odd stares.

"What are you looking at?!", Cavendish lashed out, holding a pineapple in the most threatening way someone could, which was no way. "Can't a man have a reasonable discussion with the little people inside his earholes?!"

"The nerve of some people…", Cavendish muttered, shaking the guvas off of his socks.

Straightening his hat, which had a pear, a mango and an orange on top, Cavendish gave very stern looks to the two avatars of his personality.

"Listen, guys, I respect your attempts to help, but I don't even know what I did!"

He marched back to the cart, slipping on the wet floor and smashing his back on said surface, earning a yelp of pain.

Gritting his teeth, he growled an explanation to his plea of silence. "All I know is that Dakota left me for some reason, and I can't tell if I am in the right or the wrong, which scares me, since… Since I have to be right!"

Suddenly, Cavendish could hear himself.

Was he always talking like this?

Was he really THAT insecure? That hungry for admiration?

Cavendish shut his eyes tightly, trying to silence his hyperactive brain. "Please… I just want a break…"

He almost felt tears sting his eyes, as he prayed for a reprieve. "Please… Just be quiet for a moment."

And for a moment, it was quiet, as Cavendish's eyes lay on a donut box being offered in the pastry section.

…Wait, wasn't he in the fruit aisle?

While he was confused by his sudden teleportation, Cavendish wanted to forget his troubles, so he shrugged them off and fixated his attention on the delicious donuts in front of him.

Despite having no appetite for 5 whole days, Cavendish found himself drooling over the desirable delicacy in front of him: Creamy, honey glazed sprinkled goodies, oft layered in chocolate or jelly, a thick coat of sweet paradise on the kneaded dough that had been handled by stranger's hands.

"Wow…", Cavendish exclaimed as his stomach growled with need. "Even that disgusting thought won't ruin my appetite."

Licking his dry, cut lips, prompting a small surge of pain to travel his nerve ends, Cavendish hesitantly grabbed the box, taking one particularly scrumptious looking donut out.

The shine in his eyes reflected off the donut, the angelic singing of a choir adding atmosphere to the room.

Cavendish, confused, turned around to see an actual choir.

"…Could you knock it off? I can't focus with all this racket!", Cavendish ordered, and the choir grumpily left.

This was all rather confusing, especially for the other shoppers, who were slowly disappearing: There was no choir in the store at all.

But Cavendish did not have time for such trivial matters as the slow and terrifying disintegration of his sanity: He had a donut to eat!

He wiggled his fingers, the donut fitting on his ring finger like, well, a ring, and he opened his mouth.

"Finally, something else on my mind!", he exclaimed out loud, again ignoring social norms, and he happily began to devour…

**Alex:**

_Round... Like A Circle…_

**Anna:**

_In A Spiral…_

The donut, which had once been a donut, at least, in Cavendish's mind, was now somehow two human faces, specifically those two kids from before, Alex and Anna.

The duo's arrival also heralded the arrival of music, specifically "The Windmills of Your Mind" by Harrison Wells.

Now, while Cavendish was sort of falling apart from the seams, he still had enough of his mental capacities left to recognize that two children faces sitting in his hand and singing songs from the 60's was most definitely odd.

So, like a normal person, he let out a blood curdling scream and jumped away from the… Whatever that was in his hand.

Eyes darting around madly, hoping no one saw him, Cavendish looked back at the four eyes which shouldn't be there on the floor.

Carefully, he found a stick and prodded the two kids, but they said nothing.

He repeated the action a few more times, but still no answer.

Throwing away the stick, and thus shattering a window, Cavendish sighed in relief, wiping his brow.

"Must be my mind playing tricks on me.", he chuckled to himself in his thoughts.

"Oh, it is playing tricks on you. We're here to clear the fog from your eyes.", Alex and Anna responded.

"Poppycock! There is no fog in my eyes!", Cavendish retorted defensively, not noticing the literal fog in his eyes.

But he did notice that the kids were suddenly talking.

"Wait, who are you even?", Cavendish accused, staring them in the eye inquistionally. "Enemy spies? Evil monsters? My landlord?"

Alex and Anna exchanged worried glances before resuming their staring contest with Cavendish, whose eyes were bulging with suspicion. "Mr. Cavendish, we are products of your mind. We also saw you like 5 minutes ago outside. You told us to go away."

Cavendish blinked in confusion, failing to understand. "But… I've never seen you in my life! Are you sure you're not mistaken?"

Alex and Anna nodded grimly.

Cavendish sat down, hands on his knees, a nervous look on his face. Assuming he wasn't going mad (a sucker bet, sure, but he was a beggar, not a chooser), Cavendish was being told the truth: He had somehow forgotten something that had only just happened.

"But how?", Cavendish asked no one in particular.

"Well, you see…"

"And also, why am I imagining all this? I asked for a break!", Cavendish demanded, annoyed.

"…Well, if you'd just…"

"And also, like, what did I even do? Poor Dakota can't pass a minute without me groveling all over him…"

"Sir, if you just stop…"

"And why were you singing?!", Cavendish asked, waving his hands in the air. "Also, you only sang one line! Quite lazy, if I do say so my…"

"SHUT UP!", Alex and Anna screamed in demonic voices, making Cavendish cower in fright.

Sighing, the two heads returned to the ground and rolled over to his already outstretched palm, the hand lifting itself towards Cavendish without him even asking it to.

"We are, in a sense, your true self. You wronged Dakota…"

"Not… Exactly…" Cavendish choked out.

"You ignored the ones you love…"

"Well, everyone's a critic.", Cavendish pouted, crossing his arms.

"And in trying to please your Father, you lost yourself."

"Puhlease! Of all the accusations, that may be your silliest! I hate my Father! I loathe him! Why, once, I even said that he's downright… Mean. And that took a lot of willpower!", Cavendish defended himself, not noticing that he was, if anything, incriminating himself.

Alex and Anna looked at each other with tired glances.

"Ok, so now we know that he's totally in denial.", Alex said.

"We sort of already knew that.", Anna retorted, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, I just wanted to confirm it! The paperwork has to be filled, Anna!", Alex chided, a scolding tone to his complaint.

"Oh, please! You and I both know that the only reason you've ever lifted a pen is because of May down in accounting.", Anna playfully mocked, making Alex huff.

"You try ignoring her! She's a rare desert flower, and I'm… The guy who picks those things. Who does that?", Alex asked.

Anna shrugged, and they both looked at Cavendish, who tapped his chin in thought.

"An anthropologist? A biologist, perhaps?", he offered.

"Maybe…", Alex muttered, and suddenly, he and Anna rolled away.

"Hey, wait, I can Bing search it for you!", Cavendish hastily called after them, following the rolling heads down the store floors.

"Cavendish, we must return to the matter at hand: You are broken and in need of repair. Self repair. Only you can fix yourself."

They suddenly materialized into a picture, a picture of Cavendish's first date with Dakota, a year ago in The Breakfast Burrito Place.

A pang of sadness struck his heart, and Cavendish couldn't help but glance with melancholly at the happy image.

How had it all gone wrong?

What did he do to ruin it all?

But no!

Cavendish refused to be wrong!

He had to be right!

He had to!

Cavendish scoffed, flexing an inexistent muscle. "Nonsense! I'm in perfect shape, both physically and mentally! Why, just yesterday I thought I heard a dog bark "Dakota! Dakota!" and I only cried for the rest of the day!"

"Your point being?", Anna asked doubtfully.

"I stopped crying once I went to sleep!", Cavendish offered helpfully.

Alex and Anna sighed. "Cavendish, you need help, whether you like it or not!"

Cavendish, steaming, shouted back. "Never! Never in million years! I am a man! And a man needs no help from no one!"

"Good!", Alex cheered.

"Now help yourself!", Anna offered.

"Fine, I will!", Cavendish countered and he walked off. "Stupid talking children's heads! Why, of course I can help myself! I definitely will! After all, I am totally broken, and those foolish brats can't see that!"

"Oh, yes, we are morons!", Alex called out.

Cavendish nodded determinedly and he lifted another donut from the box which was magically next to him.

"Nope, not a donut, go to the wheel!", Anna guided, and Cavendish did as she said.

"They'll see! I'll confront the reasons why I hurt Dakota!", Cavendish proudly exclaimed, before suddenly realizing…

"Wait, wait, I don't want…", he tried to stop it but it was too late.

**Brandon:**

_Like A Wheel…_

**Britanny:**

_Within A Wheel… _

"Too late…", Cavendish frowned, and he glanced at the wheel with two kids faces, this time a short, overweight kid with a pompadour, the other a smiling girl with a curly ponytail.

Viewing them with nothing but contempt, Cavendish asked a question he did not really want to be answered.

"Let me guess: You're here to show me what a terrible person I am.", was the dry question that parted his parched lips.

"Oh, no, not terrible! Just misguided!", Brandon and Britanny enthusiastically replied, their faces filling the space in the wheel.

Cavendish smiled lightly. "Oh, well, that IS better."

Only to then frown again. "Hey, wait, who says I'm misguided? I'm just doing what I'm supposed to do to be a man!"

"Oh no, we can't hear you, we're turning into a picture!", Brandon and Britanny shouted with glee, spiraling and swirling like a toilet flush as they slowly turned into a picture.

"No, wait, don't turn into a picture, please!", Cavendish pleaded, his hands clasped together.

Brandon and Britanny's heads suddenly returned. "Would you rather it was a video?"

Cavendish considered the option carefully. "Well, that depends: Can you make it a video?"

"Yes, but it takes up a lot of budget.", They admitted and Cavendish shook his head.

"Well, we can't just blow the budget on something so inconsequential! Make it a picture!"

"Yes sir!", they saluted and turned into a picture, just in time for Cavendish to realize what he had done.

"Wait, wait, I don't… Oh, bollocks.", Cavendish cussed as the picture fell in the palm of his hand.

Looking down, he was met with another joyful memory: His first kiss with Dakota.

He couldn't help but sigh fondly, caressing the image by making circles with his thumb.

He could still feel the tenderness of the kiss he had delivered to Dakota's cheek back then, how positively giddy it felt to just show him the love he so clearly deserved.

For a moment, it was just him and the memory, and no one else.

For a moment, Cavendish once again felt the love he had for Dakota, true love, love that made him almost feel scared it was so deep.

So of course he had to go and ruin it.

As his eyes continued to gaze upon the image, he suddenly noticed the color draining from it, dripping away and off of the picture like a leaky faucet.

Startled, Cavendish threw the image away, and, finding some of that leaking color on his person, he began to shake it off.

This, however, led to another discovery: He was also losing color!

His hat and head had already been coated grey by the time he noticed, and even then it was too late: The rest of Cavendish had lost its color, and as he picked up the picture, so did the memory.

What was worse was that it wasn't just the color that turned grey.

Cavendish couldn't explain it, but for some reason, as he held the picture again, all those wonderful and awe inspiring feelings he had had, all those pleasant memories now suddenly felt empty and meaningless.

As did he.

Cavendish blinked in confusion as he sat on the cold, shiny grocery store floor, he himself now feeling empty and meaningless, lost in a cold and cruel world.

But was it thrust upon him…

Or was this nightmare one he thrust upon himself?

Whatever it was, Cavendish was disturbed: Surely all those feelings and memories weren't false, right?

He MUST have felt them once, or else he wouldn't have dated Dakota at all!

Was… Was it all fake?

Were his feelings for Dakota, for Milo, for Melissa and Zack and Amanda and Sara and Doof and the rest real or imaginary?

"They are fake, don't you see!", his Father returned, once again turning him against them all. "I've told you once I've told you a hundred times, you need to be a man!"

He cupped Cavendish's jaw, sending an all too familiar (yet somehow also foregin) feeling chill to Cavendish's spine.

"And a man does not need anyone! He only needs himself! You are strong on your own!", his Father ordered, and for a moment, Cavendish wanted to heed said words.

But the battle had only just begun.

"Stop poisoning him!", Dakota leapt out of nowhere and flung his sword at Cavendish Sr's. "Balthy does care! Why would he feel empty and meaningless?"

"You are confusing empty with independent! You are not meaningless, you've finally found meaning in this wretched world!", Cavendish Sr. fought back, the two figments of Cavendish's imagination doing battle in front of his eyes.

Cavendish closed his eyes, wishing to avoid the unavoidable.

"Please! I feel bad as it is! I can't handle more guilt!", Cavendish begged, wishing to find out he was right all along, and he didn't break any relationship.

But fate had other plans.

**Carol:**

_Never Ending…_

"What's never ending? Please stop singing in fragments, it's very confusing…"

But Cavendish couldn't finish the sentence: An all too familiar George Michael ballad was blaring across the now empty grocery store, haunting him yet again.

**George Michael:**

_I'm Never Gonna Dance Again_

_Guilty Feet Have Got No Rhythm_

_Though It's Easy To Pretend_

_I Know You're Not A Fool_

_Should've Known Better Than To Cheat A Friend_

_And Waste The Chance That I'd Been Given_

_So I'm Never Gonna Dance Again_

_The Way I Danced With You_

Cavendish felt the tears threaten to burst the dams in his eyes, and he quickly blocked them with his hands.

He couldn't cry!

He could never cry!

He…

"I need to run away from here!", he cried, as flashes of memories came back.

He had treated him so terribly!

He had been so negligent, so critical, so downright cruel, never truly giving him love!

"No, no, no! I can't be wrong! I have to be right! I have to!", Cavendish shouted as his legs carried him off and away from the grocery store.

He needed to rest! Yes, rest!

This was all just some bad dream, just a bad dream and nothing else!

He just needed to wake up, and all this shame and guilt would be replaced with what he should feel: Relief and pride.

No longer would he be tied down by that poof, that fairy!

He'd be himself again!

A man standing alone at the gates of destiny, loving only himself, as he should!

Even though his entire soul screamed in pain from daring to hurt the only ones who had ever loved him, Cavendish drowned it out with praise from his Father.

"Atta boy, Balthazar! Now, open your eyes and you'll see your future!"

But instead of the future, the past stood before Cavendish, urging him to confront it.

**Carl:**

_Or Beginning…_

The words reverberated across the establishment, the one Cavendish had dreaded entering since the events of the disastrous date: The Breakfast Burrito Place.

Therein lied the place where Cavendish and Dakota had had their first date.

Here, past the processed meat and pungent cushions, lay memories, laughter and joy shared and stored within the walls of plaster.

It was the place where it all started…

And where Cavendish unknowingly set forth the end of it all.

It was Dakota's favorite place…

And, once upon a time, it had been Cavendish's for that very reason.

Cavendish almost smiled tearfully, he could feel Dakota's spirit in the place: His playful laugh, his purposefully dumb jokes, his soft hand caressing his, the twinkle in his eyes…

His warm kisses, which made the cold nights way more bearable…

Another shiver, another sigh, another denial.

He had to run away from here, before he'd discover some awful truths.

The very idea that he might be the reason behind all his failure scared Cavendish to no end!

He had to have been right, otherwise he'd have spent 35 years doing it all for the wrong reasons, no?

No.

He couldn't face this.

Even the intense urge to do Dakota right paled in comparison to Cavendish's all encompassing need to not hate himself.

So, instead of sitting down in the place that carried painfully happy memories, Cavendish would run back to the couch and pretend to be happy.

Depression, unfortunately, was a lot more welcoming than the truth.

"And probably more obedient to a health code", Cavendish half joked as he began to dart out of the establishment, but Alex, Anna, Brandon, Britanny, Carol and Carl blocked his path, refusing to let him leave.

"Out of my way! There's a dusty corner in my dark apartment that beckons!", Cavendish declared, and he jumped at the human wall, only to rebound back.

"Cavendish, don't you see that we are your consiconce, screaming out for redemption?", they said, but Cavendish ignored.

"Stop! Please stop! I can't be responsible for this, I can't!", Cavendish yelled, almost begging, fear etched in his words as he slammed the floor with his fists.

The kids were quite taken aback by this, some flinching as Cavendish kept shouting.

"I don't want to face it! I don't want to find out why! I don't care what I did! I just want to rest!", he screamed, tears running down his face and blood curdling inside.

He wept and wept, shaking and shivering, fearing it all.

"I… I just want to be good. I can't bear to find out that I was the bad guy all along.", Cavendish admitted, calming down for a second, but still fidgeting like mad.

Looks of sympathy reflected in the faces of the kids as Cavendish continued to sob, a little quieter now.

They were, after all, products of his guilty mind. They only wanted to help.

Alex, the first of the pack, slowly inched towards Cavendish, a hesitant hand reaching towards the grown man's back, like a baby trying to pet a big dog that had just gnarled its teeth.

Cavendish flinched for a moment from the contact, afraid of its meaning.

"Don't make me feel better! I…"

Cavendish stopped, stuttering, confused as to why he'd not want support.

Or, well, he did know.

But…

But…

"Oh, it doesn't make sense! How can I want love and yet also fear it? How can I hate and look up to my father? How can I say that I didn't do anything to Dakota…"

Cavendish bowed his head, sweat now suddenly running down his face as it joined together with the tears to blur his vision.

"…When I feel so guilty?"

Right now, in the very confused, tired and scared mind of Balthazar Cavendish, many desires overlapped and engulfed others.

So many conflicting motivations raced for the finish line of his heart, trying to grab his utmost attention.

A part of Cavendish just wanted to lie down and never wake up.

But another part, a strong, passionate part that slowly rose up from his chest into his mind began to take form.

Maybe he didn't do anything.

Maybe he really was innocent.

But Dakota would never have left for no reason.

Scary as it was, Cavendish began to realize: He must have done something.

…But what?

Sighing morosely, Cavendish looked up at the now very concerned group of kids surrounding him, all of them carrying familiar yet simultaneously unfamiliar faces.

"…I'm truly sorry."

He tried to avoid their stares, his soul was being pierced enough as it is.

"I want this over as much as you do. I just want to stop feeling like such a… Such a…"

"Jackass?", Alex offered.

"Well, not exactly the word I'd use…"

"Asshole?", Anna suggested.

Cavendish frowned, miffed. "All right, fine, maybe an asshole, but what I was trying to say was…"

"Bastard?", Brandon piped up.

"Full of shit shit head?", Britanny tried.

"Cucumber colored cock with a half burnt hyronomus bosch poem for a heart?", Carol chimed in.

"KunckleheadMcSpazzmatron?", Carl referenced.

"All right, enough!", Cavendish protested, his voice loud and annoyed.

He crossed his arms and blew a strand of hair off of his forehead. "Seriously, was that necessary?"

"Oh, very!", Alex joked, and the rest laughed.

"Ugh, whatever!", Cavendish grunted, almost sounding like a teenage girl named Ashley who only wears DESIGNER GUCCI, not that fake crap they sell at The Gap, girlfriend! BURN!

Taking a deep breath, his nostrils flaring but not angrily, Cavendish looked back at the kids with a mix of fear and hope.

"…Look… I honestly, cross my heart and hope to die…"

"No you don't."

"Of course not, I was born FABUOLOUS! Ahem…", Cavendish cleared his throat, returning to the subject. "I honestly don't know what I did, or why I did whatever I did."

He looked down, ashamed. "I have the most terrible feeling that I did something, and I would rather read contract law books, bathe in Donald Trump's sweat and have my soul ripped out of my chest every 5 seconds than admit for a moment that I am wrong… But…"

He looked up, determinedly, ignoring his Father's screams from the depths of his mind. "I want to know. At least for Dakota, I want to know."

Yes, even then, his love for Dakota overpowered all.

Perhaps there was hope.

Suddenly, he felt his head split almost in two as the war waged inside him heated up.

Letting out a scream of anguish, he began to pound the floor, hot tears of pain running down his face. "Please, hurry!", he shouted out, seething and suffering. "Please! I… I can only muster so much courage for so long!"

The kids, now truly sympathetic for Cavendish, stepped forwards, presenting their hands, waiting for him to take one.

Cavendish looked up, confused. Was this part of the deal?

Realizing that he had missed the point, Anna spoke up, taking the lead over her more experienced partner. "In order for someone to heal, he must be ready to listen. To accept that maybe, just maybe, he's at fault. Can you do that?"

Her words were quiet, peaceful and Cavendish, tears running down his face, shivered.

Could he?

He hesitated, his hand shaking violently, the mere action of taking Anna's hand and accepting blame too frightening to even consider.

But…

"…Dakota needs me.", Cavendish thought, and, just barely succeeding, he grasped the hand, sort of ready to accept responsibility.

Anna smiled and patted his writhing palm with her other hand, making Cavendish, for just a moment, feel warm, and even…

Safe.

"Heh…", he lightly chuckled, feeling ease for the first time in days. "…It's pretty easy. Is that all I have to do? Not sure why I made such a fuss out of…"

And then Anna clicked her tongue and Cavendish got sucked in to her hands.

His body squished and melted, turning into liquid Cavendish (half the price for a solid Cavendish) and as he got slurped into Anna's hands, he let out a scream of terror and panic.

**Casey (OS):**

_On An Ever…_

**Chelsea (OS):**

_Spinning Reel…_

"I REGRET ALL MY DECISIONS!", Cavendish shrieked, his eyes bulging out in fright as he found himself in…


	5. The Circles That You Find

SPACE (THAT'S IN SPACE!)

Cavendish's scream continued, and he suddenly noticed his surroundings.

Gasping, he shook his fists in the air, eyes darting around in hysteria. "WEIRD CHILDREN! TAKE ME BACK THIS INSTANT!"

But there was no answer. Clearly, they would keep him here until he figured things out.

Or died. Whichever came first.

"Knowing my luck…", Cavendish muttered, frustrated with his day so far.

He just wanted to eat a freakin' donut!

Talk about upsetting the natural order or something!

Cavendish blinked, trying to adjust to the light, but there was no light…

Except from within.

…Literally. Apparently someone had installed a bug zapper inside of his chest.

"Odd.", Cavendish thought, but at the same time, this was somehow one of the less weird things to happen so far.

Almost mechanically, as if he somehow knew how to do it before, Cavendish fetched a key that was hanging by a necklace from his throat and he opened his chest to remove the zapper.

A simple task, really.

But only Balthazar Cavendish would accidentally take out his heart instead of a zapper.

Panicking, Cavendish tried to put it back in but his chest was suddenly locked, and the key was floating in space.

"Been a while, Balthy.", The heart greeted, and Cavendish yelped again.

"HEARTS CAN'T TALK!", he screamed at it.

…

"Then again, this has been one of those days…", he observed thoughtfully.

"The key, dude.", His heart pointed out, and Cavendish began swimming after it, though not without scolding it for reminding him.

"I know it's floating away! I have a brain!"

"But not a heart."

Cavendish rolled his eyes and swam after the key, not noticing the beautiful and awe inspiring constellations that flew past, not noticing the majestic planets and mysterious, mystical moons.

How could he notice them?

He had far more important things to do.

He always did.

After what felt like an eternity but was really just 2 minutes, Cavendish finally caught the key.

"Ha ha!", he laughed jubilantly, twirling it in the air, before grasping it tight.

Eyes closed in pride, he boasted to his cardiac muscle. "Take that, heart!"

But his heart was gone.

Panicking again, Cavendish began pounding the inexistent walls.

"Can anyone answer me? Do I need a heart in this… Whatever this is or not?"

A door shaped door (writing! It be easy!) opened in one of the areas of space before him, and a new face with a familiar voice (Casey, if Cavendish's brain was right, which it always was. Take that Mr. Tonsilitis of 2nd grade advanced napping!) popped out.

This face, round, clearly belonging to a heavy set built boy, smiled cheerfully as he delivered the news.

"You always need a heart, Cavendish. But to make this example work, you don't need it with you."

Cavendish nodded, pleased with the explanation. "All right! Thank you, Casey!"

"You're welcome!", Casey replied, and he shut the door.

Cavendish, then, realizing he'd just wasted his chance to escape this mad place, screamed and frantically swam to where the door had been, slamming his fists on nothing.

"Wait! Let me out! Please! I'd rather not find out! This place is cold and scary and lifeless!"

The door opened again suddenly, this time by Chelsea, another old voice with a strange face. Light was emanating from where she was standing, light so bright that it nearly blinded Cavendish now that he was up close.

"Well, considering you're Cavendish, this should be very familiar for you!"

As the door began to shut, Cavendish protested this injustice. "You naughty child! Let me in!"

Trying to stop the door, Cavendish inserted his hand to block its path, but all that did was let the door smash his hand, making him squeal with pain.

"JESUS CHRIST!", he yelled, sucking his entire hand to relieve the hurt appendage.

"…How did I do that?", he wondered, as he kept floating in space, completely and utterly alone.

For a moment,, Cavendish wondered if he really was alone.

If he had been tricked and was now spending eternity in an endless cavern of darkness and solitude.

And rather that was any different than the last 45 years.

But Cavendish wasn't alone.

"Balthazar Cavendish…", a voice echoed and echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

Cavendish's ears perked and he tried his best to hear the message.

Was someone trying to save him?

"Yes, it is I! Balthazar T. Cavendish! Are you here to resc…"

But his hopes were dashed by the invisible voice.

"You say you want to know how it all went wrong."

Cavendish pouted and scoffed. "What I want is my terrible life back! Why can't I suffer in silence like a normal adult?"

Hearing his words, he sighed, resigned to his fate. "Yes. Yes I do want to know."

"Excellent!", the voice rang out loud, and suddenly, just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, replaced with…

"…A butterfly?", Cavendish questioned out loud, not that anyone was there to…

"Yes, a butterfly.", the voice replied.

Oh, right, never mind. I forgot about them.

And as sure as the two people present said, a butterfly was there, flapping its tiny wings in slow motion, not a care in the world.

Cavendish observed the insect with a curious glance. It was definitely odd for a butterfly: On its antennae were indendtical green top hats with goggles strapped on, just like his.

Its wings flapped incredibly slowly, almost at a standstill in the vaccum of space.

And most perculiar of all, was its color: Half the butterfly was painted grey as grey can be, but its other half was rainbow colored, so bright the colors were that they nearly illuminated Cavendish's face.

It was definitely a sight to behold.

And for a while, it was all Cavendish did; he beheld the sight for a few minutes, or hours, or days, or years. He wasn't sure. Time moved in a very funny way here.

After what must have been an eternity, the voice returned.

"If you want to find out… You must go back to the beginning. You must go through the passage of time… And find out who are you, deep down."

Cavendish was so distracted he didn't really listen.

An urge had been building up now for a while, and, carefully, he edged a finger towards the butterfly.

You see, there was suddenly a new feature on the butterfly, one that as soon as it had appeared, had caught Cavendish's eye: A button.

Two, to be precise.

The first stated one word: "Emotional."

The second also went for short and sweet and to the point: "Emotionless."

"Well, if the test is to help the butterfly, I clearly need to press the second button.", Cavendish thought, relieved that all he had to do was press a button.

This was almost too easy!

"Just a push of a button and I'll be back in no time!", he thought, and as he finished that thought, he pressed the button in front of him.

Of course, this set up a butterfly effect and he got blasted backwards onto Earth.

"AAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!", he let out a blood curdling scream as he began to set on fire, the atmosphere cooking him like he was a meal to be had, a Balthazar Cavendish goulash.

"…Why does that sound sort of delicious?", Cavendish wondered as he crashed down onto…

* * *

"…Snow?!"

Yes, snow!

The white fluffy powder that so often covered the world with an oddly comforting blanket was now all over the place, getting into Cavendish's clothes and inside his nose.

Sneezing, he stood up and shook it off his fingers, confused and annoyed by this new location.

"Why the hell am I here?", he thought, an odd case of déjà vu suddenly striking him.

"…And why do I feel like I've been here before?", he noted, looking left to right, but seeing only snow.

Suddenly, he was struck by two snowballs right in the kisser, and he fell onto the ground, hurting himself.

"Ow! Who threw that?", Cavendish yelled out in frustration, and wanting vengeance, he scooped up two balls of his own, searching for the culprit.

But before he could exact his revenge, the two balls sang.

**Cherlyn:**

_Like A Snowball…_

**Cheryl:**

_Down A Mountain…_

"Of course…", Cavendish muttered, more tired than angry, and he looked around, trying to understand why he had been brought here.

The explanation came soon enough: High up above him, there was a mountain top.

And on that top were Cavendish and Dakota.

Er, well, Dakota and him, he guessed.

And if their winter coats and ski equipment were anything to go by, then they were clearly skiing.

"Redundant, much?", he told himself, and he leaned on a tree, observing the event that was to befall, wondering why he was whisked here of all places.

"Here I go! Wheeeeeee…", Skiing Cavendish exclaimed with glee, only to suddenly crash down the mountain, shattering every bone in his body.

Our Cavendish was horrified from the carnage, and scared for himself: The falling Cavendish was nearing him!

Looking for somewhere to hide, Cavendish went behind the tree, and cowered in fright, his eyes shut tight.

After a few moments the screaming stopped, and Cavendish started feeling a little safer. "I guess it's over now…", he thought, but when he opened his eyes.

"IN THE NAME OF ALL WHICH IS MARK RUFFALO!"

Sitting silently in Cavendish's hands, the color already draining from its cheeks, was Cavendish's head, which had been decapitated by one of the passing branches.

Cavendish's heart stopped and he bated his breath as he slowly touched the hair on top of the head.

"…Oh my god…", he whispered, shocked at what he had just seen…

Only for an odd feeling to pass through him.

He couldn't put his finger on it at first, but he could definitely put his legs on it, as he found himself…

Moving backwards!

[Biteszadusto!]

Cavendish kept reliving the past few moments until he found himself leaning on the tree again, the fresh trauma of seeing himself die still in the forefront of his mind.

"What happened?", he asked, but the answer came from an unexpected source: Himself.

"Here I go!", Skiing Cavendish exclaimed again, but this time, Skiing Dakota made sure that Cavendish took the amateur lane.

Our Cavendish, however, was not amused. "What nonsense! Of course I could take the expert course! What would happen, would I die?"

Suddenly realizing that that was exactly what happened, Cavendish found himself asking another question: "Why the heck am I being shown this? I know that Dakota saved my life multiple times! What is the point of all of this?"

As if to answer him, the tree he was leaning on suddenly pushed him, making Cavendish roll down the mountain in breathtaking speed.

"I… SHOULDN'T… HAVE… ASKED!", Cavendish screamed between breaths as he smashed against rocks and trees and snow.

Finally, he began to sail off the mountain, and his destination was the ground.

"AAAAGHHHHHH!", he shrieked in terror, grasping in the air, looking for something to hoist him up from his sure doom.

Suddenly, his hand grasped something: A string.

"A ha!", he exclaimed, and his eyes spotted the balloon that belonged to the string.

Clinging on tight, he began to float away from the abyss, sighing in relief.

"Well, glad that's over…", he said, looking at the balloon.

Of course, it had two faces. Why wouldn't it?

"Let me guess, you sing too.", he said, and, as to be expected…

**Dave Wong:**

_Or A Carnival…_

**Ed:**

_Balloon…_

Cavendish looked down with a dry expression, and sure enough, Lard World was beneath him.

As he looked up, though, the wrong thing was at the center of his mind, as per usual.

"…Carnival Balloon and Lard World is sort of a stretch, no? It's an amusement park."

The Balloon then, of course, dropped him for being such a pedant, and Cavendish found himself crashing down to the ground.

"I CAN'T SHATTER MY LEGS! THEY'RE VERY USEFUL!", Cavendish cried, hoping some random diety he didn't believe in would rescue him from certain doom.

And, apparently, someone was listening, since instead of crashing down Cavendish suddenly started floating softly to the bottom, where he landed daintly.

After breathing a huge sigh of relief, he immediately began to complain about Dave Wong and Ed.

"The nerve of those children! Can't they take some constructive criticism? We could all use some… Except for me, of course.", Cavendish declared, ignoring the intense irony in the sentence.

Having finished his mini-rant, Cavendish began to observe his surroundings, his eyes searching for the next "pleasant" surprise.

"I wonder what I even did here. I honestly can't remember dying here."

He sighed. "Well, that was a dark thought."

Finally, he spotted himself and Dakota working on protecting a Pistachio stand, Dakota fooling around with a thermon ("Typical Dakota", Cavendish noted with a frustrated sniff) and he doing all the work, of course.

Dave Wong and Ed suddenly appeared as Cavendish turned to them to complain.

"Just a moment!", Cavendish began to complain, looking indignant and insulted. "I see no wrongdoing on my part! Dakota's messing around as ever and I'm doing all the work!"

He laughed mockingly, literally and figureatively looking down at them. "The boys back in HQ got the wrong tape, huh?"

Ignoring Cavendish's smug and haughty look, Dave Wong pointed back at the scene, which had turned into Cavendish criticizing and ordering Dakota around. "Uh, dude, like, you treat him like trash, don't you see?"

Cavendish began to look down in shame, wondering if it was true, as Dave Wong continued to give examples. "Just today, you ended up blaming it all on him, you refused to let him cheer you or himself up AND you ordered him around all the time."

"Well, he was messing about with random musical instruments!", Cavendish interjected, desperately trying to defend himself.

He had to be right! He had to! Just once could someone say that?!

"But you're partners. Partners don't order each other around, dude.", Dave Wong retorted.

"Well, listen to me, dude!", Cavendish responded, prodding Dave's nose. "Adult relationships are complex! Besides, I was more experienced than him! He's supposed to listen to me at all times!"

Ed, who had been standing silently and listening the entire time, suddenly removed a dictionary from thin air, pointing at the definition for partners.

Cavendish, who read it in super speed, scoffed, knowing he was defeated but still frantically trying to escape the hole he had dug for himself. "Well, you see… It's just… It's not exactly… Er… Uh… Um… Dur…"

Stuttering and stumbling over his words, he finally began to concede defeat to a now victorious Dave Wong and Ed. "Well… You're not…"

He mumbled the words. "100% wrong…"

And for a moment, Cavendish really did feel bad for what he had done.

The look of judgment and unwarranted anger on his face while he vented to Dakota really felt just…

Wrong.

But of course, Cavendish immediately reverted to type. "Well, whatever! Just give me a different example!"

And he crossed his arms, pouting like a child who had been told he can't have a pacifier AND tickets to The Human Centipede.

"Sure thing, dude.", Dave Wong aquieced and he pointed up to the sky.

"Look up."

Cavendish did as he was told, but not before sticking his tongue out in defiance.

Dave sighed. This was one of the harder cases he had had to solve in his short life as a delusion in Cavendish's mind.

"Now, do please turn your back to me."

"Easy peasey.", Cavendish remarked and he did so, his coat tails blowing in the wind for a moment before settling down.

Cavendish twitched his moustache and tapped his foot impatiently. "Well? Where to next in my trail of miserable character defects? I have a life to fuck up, you know."

"Almost. Just move over to the left.", Dave Wong directed, and Cavendish took two steps.

"No, wait, a little to the right."

"Here?", Cavendish asked after shimming a bit.

"Almost. Half a step forwards."

Cavendish complied with the instruction.

"Here's good?", Cavendish asked, genuinely hoping it was.

"Excellent! Now stand still!", Dave said, and he readied his foot.

"Well, whatever you say! What's supposed to hap…"

THWACK!

Dave Wong let his foot fly and Cavendish got kicked in the behind all the way up to space, screaming in pain as his lips flapped and his eyes bulged.

"…PEN!", Cavendish screamed, as he once again returned to the inky black backdrop of space.

As he flew upwards, he could see the Moon approaching, its white crater filled surface shining bright, a beacon in the darkness.

But not for Cavendish, who flew so fast he actually flew past it.

"…Whoops! Sorry!", a voice cried, and Cavendish was pulled back into the Moon's gravitational pull.

Orbiting the orbiter of the Earth, Cavendish huffed, tired of this day, this life, this reality.

Tapping his foot (…Somehow), Cavendish looked at his wrist, despite it not having a watch and he tutted impatiently.

"Well? No song lyrics that make no sense? No terrible memories to illicit feelings of guilt in me? No physical violence imparted on my being? It's almost like you're giving me a break.", Cavendish complained.

"Ask and ye shall receive!", Emery and Erika, the new voices, chirped cheerfully, and BOOM! Cavendish was now seated inside a carousel ride that was…

Well, I'll let the singers say it.

**Emery:**

_Like A Carousel…_

**Erika:**

_That's Turning…_

**Geoffrey:**

_Running Rings…_

**Gevork:**

_Around The Moon…_

"When did those two show up? I was just getting used to Emery and Erika!", Cavendish protested, only to be belted in tight, his waist getting squeezed so tight he could barely wheeze.

Suddenly realizing what the lyrics might mean, Cavendish looked up in fright at his conductors, Geoffrey and Gevork, who smiled a little too brightly as they leaned on a lever.

"…What was that part about running rings around the moon?", Cavendish asked worriedly, crouching in his seat, his index finger shaking in fright up in the air.

Geoffrey and Gevork didn't answer.

They didn't really need to, to be honest.

The lever was pulled and Cavendish's lips flapped again as he ran rings around the…

"WE GET IT!", Cavendish screamed as he ran around and around and around, like a record baby, round and round.

Finally, after 777 spins, Cavendish, whose face was even greener than his hat and waistcoat, grasped at his mouth, feeling a puke coming up.

Swallowing the vomit with much effort, Cavendish let out a yelp of terror. "Am I really going to go down as the first person to throw up on the moon?"

"Nope, but you are the first person to die on the moon!", Geoffrey pointed out.

Gevork nodded, a little too enthusiastically, which Cavendish noticed.

"Is he… Is he supposed to smile like that about my death?", Cavendish asked, alarmed.

Geoffrey stopped smiling and leaned in to whisper in Cavendish's ear. "We're all worried about him, but right now, let's focus on you, ok?"

While Gevork chuckled menacingly, Cavendish looked down to see himself on the moon, from a few years back.

For some reason, he had forgotten his helmet ("A rare mistake on my part", thought Cavendish), and sure enough…

POP!

Moon Cavendish's head burst like a balloon, and a bit of the skin stuck itself onto Cavendish, who shrieked in fright and disgust.

"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!"

Suddenly, realizing that he was being watched, he cleared his throat and removed it from his person. "Ahem. I mean, oh no. A problem that is so easily solvable by the fact that I am a man who can easily tackle any challenge."

He smiled smugly, and Geoffrey and Gevork face palmed.

"Man, that is not the point! Look down, please!", they ordered, pointing down at the moon's surface.

"Oh, fine, fine, I'll look!", Cavendish begrudgingly obliged, and he resumed his attention at the rescue of his life by Dakota.

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "What was the point of this flashback? Sure, he saved me, but I know that already."

Geoffrey and Gevork were stunned into silence, barely able to muster a sentence for a few moments.

Finally, Gevork spat it out. "Cavendish, are you serious? He saved your life!"

"And that is amazing, but it was only a few times! The way you talk about it, you make it sound like he did it every day or something!", Cavendish complained.

Geoffrey and Gevork suddenly turned into a microwave that beeped and booped, until the number 2220 flashed on its screen in neon purple.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding!", Cavendish complained, rolling his eyes. "There is no way in hell that I died that many times!"

As if to answer his question, the microwave's screen suddenly began to enlarge and expand, quickly turning into a widescreen movie theatre screen.

Cavendish's eyes widened, allowing him to notice the other changes: The space around him had turned into a dark auditorium, the sticky floor of the carousel replaced with an even sticker cinema floor, and the wooden horses before and after him now replaced with a plethora of cheap seats that weren't comfortable, yet somehow also were.

Suddenly, in an instant, he was moved to the front seats, finding two young girls, Grace and Haley, seated to his right.

"Oh, greetings!", he said, with a tip of his hat, and suddenly he found a tub of buttery popcorn on his lap, its alluring scent wafting up to his nose, tickling it.

He let out a warm chuckle. "Well, I must admit, this is more like it!"

He popped in a modest portion into his mouth and chewed it down as a commercial played.

"Oh, no! My love life is an absolute nightmare! If only my boyfriend was more attentive!", a brown haired 1950's housewife type with a black and white face and soul greeted the screen.

"If only I had…", she began to wish, when a puff of smoke rose in the air!

Suddenly, teleporting in her spotless kitchen, it's…

"NORM!", Norm, the famous Doofenshmirtz robot greeted the viewers with a wave and a monotone smile that never wavered.

"Oh, yes! My ex! He's much better!"

"Norm, the robot that replaced your current beau! Comes when you least expect it!", the announcer said.

Cavendish scowled, as did Grace and Haley.

"They always put the worst commercials before movies these days…", Cavendish remarked, earning nods from the girls next to him.

"Start the movie already!", Cavendish shouted, throwing some popcorn at the screen.

Finally, the projector began to transmit a picture.

"Huzzah! The show is about to begin!", Cavendish announced in glee, and he scarfed down some more popcorn.

However, he soon wished he'd be back with the commercials.

Playing in front of him, in gruesome and intense detail, was every single death he had ever gone through.

All 2220 played in eye popping 3-D (which was weird, seeing as Cavendish didn't have 3-D glasses), and each one made Cavendish jump or flinch or instinctively place a hand on the damaged body part displayed on the screen.

And of course, every single time, Dakota had saved him.

For Cavendish, it was eye opening, and not just because of the quantity (that really was 2220 times).

Through every decapitation, through every explosion, through every bone shattering, organ combusting brain splitting cow milk induced death, two constants were present:

"I am really accident prone.", a confession that Cavendish would never have made before, so that was a step forwards!

And…

"…Dakota really saved me every time…"

One could hear the mixture of shock and awe in his voice as he uttered the words, the projector screen light reflecting off of his single tear in the dark.

For a moment, it was just him and Dakota, as the man he adored said "It's Cavendish: What are you gonna do?"

Cavendish let the words echo in his mind as he stared down at his hands: Weak, clammy, pathetic.

"Not a man's hands…", his Father broadcast in his mind.

"Dakota… Dakota really did save me every time."

It wasn't that he didn't believe that Dakota could: It was just so…

Enlightening.

"Dakota always wanted to save people. This job was his only way."

By now, Grace and Hailey were listening attentively, looking encouraged, as the credits rolled.

Cavendish let out a sigh, his sights still set on his hands.

"And he was willing to lose that, to lose the one thing that made him feel like a somebody…"

He whispered the final two words, feeling a pang of pain in his chest.

"…For me…"

The thousands of deaths crossed his mind, each one painful, but not as much as Dakota risking it all, sacrificing it all for him.

And what did he give him in return?

One measly thank you.

Just one.

Dakota had given him life…

And all Cavendish had done was steal his.

Suddenly, he felt very cold.

He felt…

Ungrateful.

It felt…

Unearned.

He looked hard at his hands, as they shook and clenched, his nails digging into his palms, scratching the weak flesh.

What had once seemed so perfect, now felt…

Lacking.

"…Could I ever do that? Could I ever do that for him?", he asked no one, his voice empty and lonely.

A moment of realization passed him, a moment of self awareness.

He wouldn't be here now, having a mental breakdown in the middle of nowhere with two stranger pre-teens, if it wasn't for Dakota.

He sighed morosely, honesty for once appearing on his face.

"Am I really such a jerk?"

Suddenly, as the final credits rolled, a post credits scene began playing.

Cavendish looked up, but with not much interest, his concionsce still plaguing him.

How could he have taken something like that for granted?

Was he right or wrong in his conduct with his partner?

With life?

For a moment…

Cavendish wasn't sure.

Meanwhile, numbers flashed on the screen, grabbing his attention away from his self loathing.

3…

2…

1…

"A countdown? I must say, that's a little…", Cavendish started complaining, but Cavendish couldn't finish his criticism: His seat ejected him and he was bombarded towards the Earth.

"TRIIIIPPPEEEEE!", he yelled out, but his nitpick was drowned out by Grace and Hailey singing the next two lyrics.

**Grace:**

_Like A Clock…_

**Hailey:**

_Whose Hands Are Sweeping…_

And as he continued to fall, two skydivers joined him: Harrison and Jamal.

**Harrison:**

_Past The Minutes…_

**Jamal:**

_Of Its Face…_

As he kept cascading down and down towards his home planet, Cavendish, despite his moment of clarity, couldn't help but grumble.

"Am I just going to be flung from place to place all day?"

Finishing the sentence, he got to be flung to something that wasn't a place: A giant wall clock.

As he collided with the humongous clock's face, Cavendish averted his face and eyes, bracing for impact.

Instead, something altogether different happened: The clock didn't break.

And after a moment's inspection, Cavendish saw that he didn't break either!

"A ha! In your face, physics! Even your rigid laws can't face up to the mighty Balthazar Caven…"

But Cavendish would not finish his boasting.

In fact, he'd once again scream the end of a sentence whilst flying in space, because Cavendish didn't break the clock…

He just stretched it.

Yes, Cavendish was so busy elevating himself to a pedestal that he hadn't bothered to notice that he was slowly stretching the clock and its face, as if it was a slingshot, with him as the projectile.

And by now, he'd have stretched it enough to be sent soaring once more.

Realizing this, Cavendish took one dry glance at the screen.

"Mama mia…", he uttered, and "HERE WE GO AGAIN!" was harmonized as Cavendish was shot back in super speed, breaking through a long row of floating wall clocks, each shatter making a tick or tock sound, each break changing the time around him until…

FLASH!

Opening his eyes from the brightness, Cavendish could just about see a black and white photograph with smudged corners, slowly enveloping his line of sight.

All he could see was the photograph, which depicted him and Dakota once again.

But this time, it wasn't just Dakota being mistreated.

It was also Milo.

**Jemma:**

_And The World…_

**Jim (Student):**

_Is Like An Apple…_

**Karo:**

_Whirling Silently…_

**Kris (Not Ours):**

_In Space…_

FLASH! After FLASH! Occurred as Cavendish was forced to relive some of his worst moments, as he was forced to see himself deduce that a 13 year old boy was an enemy spy preventing him from being happy, to see himself try and arrest said boy who was busy doing kinds acts, to see himself go after aliens with no experience or hope of success, leave Dakota to suffer alone and end up being frozen in space for who knows how long, almost dying and making his closest ones lives worse by every mean…

And all that, all that pain and suffering and poor decision making…

Because his stupid little ego was hurt.

Cavendish could barely stand to see and he averted his gaze, choosing instead to fixate his attention at a constellation that looked like a pro wrestler bear named Ursa Major Pain.

Had he really done all that just because he needed to feel important?

Had he really done all that because he couldn't stand the thought of being…

Not good enough?

Was he really that selfish?

Cavendish had nearly lost it all, and had nearly ruined Dakota's life, all because he wanted to feel important.

Well, one thing was for sure: He didn't feel very important now.

Suddenly, Cavendish stopped flying, and he was caught by a colossal baseball glove, the catcher on the 1st base being Logan.

The rest of the bases were filled with Mabel (now with a drum), Maddie and Malee Muns, who all held humungous gloves of their own.

A bead of sweat trickled down Cavendish's brow as these four continued the song:

**Logan:**

_Like The Circles…_

**Mabel:**

_That You Find…_

**Maddie:**

_In The Windmills…_

**Malee Muns:**

_Of Your Mind…_

"Well, Cavendish? Do you get it now?", Logan asked hopefully, and 3 voices harmonized in a very creepy and monotone way.

"Yes, Cavendish… Do you get it now?..."

Cavendish looked down in shame at first.

Had he really been so selfish, so stuck up, so obsessed with being perfect, that he had done all that?

Had he really never thanked Dakota properly?

Had he really treated him like trash?

Had he really been so egotistical that he would go as far as to blame a 13 year old boy for his own mistakes?

All these things felt like too much, the potential failure scared Cavendish. It was like a weight to bare that Cavendish just couldn't muster the strength for.

So instead, he didn't muster the strength…

And he went for the route that saved his face.

Unfortunately, he was still all too concerned with looking good.

Unfortunately, Cavendish still couldn't face the facts and see that he was wrong.

"No!", he shouted suddenly, startling the four kids on the celestial Baseball diamond.

Cavendish glared with fierce intensity, trying his hardest to defend himself, to make himself feel less crap.

"I did nothing wrong! Dakota is a screw up and the aliens had to be stopped! Milo could have been a spy! And I did thank Dakota! One thank you is enough!"

Cavendish didn't really believe any of that…

But he just had to!

He had to be better than this!

…Right?

"Cavendish, you know that that's not…"

But Cavendish would not heed Logan's words.

"I AM GOOD ENOUGH! MORE THAN THAT, I AM PERFECT! IT'S THE WORLD THAT IS WRONG, NOT ME!"

The screams may have been intended to be "masculine", but the hot tears that streamed down his face were definitely not part of the intended model, his red cheeks and puffy eyes betraying an all together different picture than intended.

"I… I am not wrong! I… I can't be!", Cavendish cried, and Logan and the girls shook their heads at each other.

"He's still in too deep.", Logan declared.

"…Then maybe it's time for a different approach. A more personal one.", Mable offered thoughtfully, and she grabbed Cavendish from Logan's hand, letting the grown man squirm in her palm.

"Let me go! You can't convince me! You never will!"

"Oh, that's ok, Cavendish!", Mabel reassured. "We won't convince you!"

Cavendish took a moment to digest this new information, surprised by the speediness of that surrender, and a satisfied grin appeared on his face.

"Well, now! Finally, some common sense!"

Mabel smiled too, before lifting a pair of cymbals, their glint catching Cavendish's eyes, as he began to float in open space again.

"You'll convince yourself!"

And with those words said, a resounding CRASH! Could be heard as Cavendish began to literally fold into himself, body parts twisted and turned and shaped until he was…

"An Origami Swan! YAY!", the enthusiastic cries of children could be heard echoing in the distance.

Cavendish got refolded, now resembling…

"Stewart Lee Udall, the 37th Secretary of The Interior, serving between 1961-1969! YAY!", the children cried in manic joy.

"…I don't get it…", Cavendish commented, sort of. His voice was muffled thanks to all the folds.

And then his voice disappeared completely, since he got folded into himself so much that he disappeared into himself.

"Metaphorical symbolism for self introspection through literal presentation! YAY!", the kids roared in approval.

Meanwhile, in the morally grey depths of his soul, sinking into himself, Cavendish found himself in a pool of time, swirling down the drain into his beginnings.

As the murky waters slurped him up like a red white striped straw, Cavendish could just catch faint chanting with his ears.

Somewhere, far away in the distance, the monotone voices of children exclaimed over and over "!euglorp sit sap s'tahW" "!euglorp sit sap s'tahW" "!euglorp sit sap s'tahW", over and over, echoing in Cavendish's mind like a thundercrash.

And then he found himself underneath the earth's surface.


	6. In The Windmills of Your Mind

"It can't be!", Cavendish gasped, but it was.

Above him was a ceiling of dirt and sediment, hard and strong, near inpenetrable from here.

Below him, even harder solid rock, which was ever more inmpenetrable than the ceiling.

All there was in front of him, aside from tiny pebbles and the occasional Earth worm, was a dark, spooky cavern, a path that Cavendish dared not tread, a hole to a time before, a time oft buried deep inside.

A tunnel.

It wasn't the most impressive tunnel, truth be told; It was moldy, it was dusty, and there wasn't a single fancy curtain or welcome mat in sight.

Why, what a refreshing change some daisy's would do!

Alas, this tunnel was no fancy tunnel.

It was just a tunnel, one with major importance to Cavendish, but just a tunnel.

Cavendish gulped. Despite never having been here before, despite being a complete stranger to this world within the core, he somehow felt like he knew what was at the end of the tunnel.

And he desperately didn't want to take the journey.

In fact, he didn't need to.

Right behind him, a door opened, and oh was it inviting!

In fact, if Cavendish's eyes were not deceiving him, a party was being held there!

Streamers, banners, and a glorious blinding light emanated from the doorway, and if his ears were as functional as his eyes, Cavendish could swear he was hearing his name being sung in celebration!

Soothing smells wafted from the door, tempting Cavendish to join in on the fun!

"Mmm mmm!", Cavendish exclaimed, his stomach now remembering that he had not eaten in days and loudly reminding Cavendish of that fact. "Sponge cake and a spot of tea would do marvelously!"

But a niggling need called for his attention, a feeling of curiosity and, perhaps, responsibility, demanded his presence in the tunnel.

Cavendish licked his lips as he thought of the possible pleasure to be had in the party.

He could feel its safe promise, its affirmation he so wanted to hear.

In the party, he would be justified, he would be hailed, he would be king!

In the room that was angonizingly close, Cavendish would be right.

So why were his legs moving towards the tunnel?

Demanding a reprieve, Cavendish forced his legs to turn, almost twisting them as he found himself once again in front of the dream destination of the room.

And as he moved towards it, each step a struggle, Cavendish began to smile.

Surely this was the right way!

But there was that impossible to ignore concern again.

There was that hesitation, that all consuming fear that…

The hard way was right.

He had to go right.

Regardless of how much it could hurt.

Cavendish looked back at the tunnel, his pupils widening with fear as he thought of going back to the tunnel, of digging deeper into his pain, his torment, his flaws.

The past hurt.

And Cavendish had been hurt enough for a lifetime or two.

But try as he might…

He couldn't go to the party.

Not yet.

Not when his heart hurt like this.

Not when the possibility of wrongdoing was still alive.

For a moment he had thought that he had not thanked Dakota properly.

For a moment he had thought that he had mistreated his partner.

For a moment he had thought that he was wrong.

And he NEVER thought that.

"…Whether or not something is wrong… I clearly feel off.", Cavendish reasoned, his legs slowly turning the right way.

Taking a deep breath, he took a step forwards.

"Even if this all turns out to be nothing and I am as perfect as I think I am…"

He took another step.

"I must be sure. I can't rest until I'm sure."

And so, Cavendish gave up on giving up, and he took the terrifying journey down the trail of buried memories and traumatic pasts.

**Matt:**

_Like A Tunnel…_

**Megan:**

_That You Follow…_

The tunnel was dark and cold, just as Cavendish had suspected.

A pungent odor permeated the premises, and all Cavendish could hear were the crunching of tiny pebbles under his shoes.

The party was long gone by now, and Cavendish had the terrible feeling that even if he wanted to go back, he wouldn't be able to.

Sometimes, he heard a faint sound. The shattering of a plate, the slamming of a door, the growl of a wild animal.

Cavendish wondered if perhaps this place housed a Hobbit with anger management issues, but instead, he was met with something very different indeed: Floating shards of glass.

The shards illuminated the dark tunnel, their brilliant light twinkling like a star.

Cavendish was near awe struck by the beauty of it all, and for a moment, he forgot his troubles as he admired the sparkling fragments, sitting on the ground, his eyes focused on nothing else.

But this rest was not for long: Holding his hand out, Cavendish caught one of the shards and brought it up close to observe it.

But instead of a reflection, the shard offered a flashback: Playing almost like a video clip, Cavendish was reminded of his one sided fight with Dakota back in the dancing area of Chez Chaz.

"Was that really just a week ago?", Cavendish thought glumly, watching the painful memory play on loop on the tiny piece.

For what must have been the hundredth time today, a shiver ran down Cavendish's spine as he saw himself act in what he was told was the right way, but was increasingly feeling like the wrong way.

Wishing to ignore the pounding guilt, Cavendish tried to let the shard go, but instead of floating away forever, the glass stuck itself to the wall of the tunnel.

Cavendish, struggling to believe this, rubbed his eyes, only for the shard to not only stay there, but to begin to glow around the outline!

"Like…", Cavendish began to realize, the wheels of his mind turning. "…Like a puzzle piece…"

In fact, now that he mentioned it, Cavendish noticed that a shard to his left that would fit perfectly next to the right side of the shard on the wall.

Unsure of the meaning of this game, but too curious to back off now, Cavendish began to retrieve pieces, piecing together the answer to his present from the events of the past.

The hard part was surprisingly not the logistics of assembling the jigsaw; Cavendish was quite fond of such games and he had an eye for detail, so that came quite easily to him.

It was the memories that gnawed at his brain with no rest.

Cavendish didn't understand how he did not remember most of these, but the moment he saw them they all came rushing back.

There he was, shattering a plate in anger, outraged at being told by Dakota that he wasn't renting the movie this time; there he was, slamming the door, causing Dakota to jump in fright because he dared suggest not to spy on Milo; there he was, growling and baring his teeth at Dakota, who had just asked him to be less angry.

Cavendish just couldn't comprehend it. These were the actions of a monster, not of someone like him, someone poised, someone elegant!

Balthazar Cavendish was better than that…

No?

But the evidence was there, pictures and everything!

And pictures don't lie!

"Well, except for when they're being faked, but I doubt that's the case here.", Cavendish reasoned, but it did not ease his soul.

Still, something felt wrong.

Nearly finished with the puzzle, Cavendish looked behind him to see that Matt and Megan were suddenly back, now present with not only their voices, but their bodies.

Fearing the answer, but needing it still, Cavendish turned to them, a few pieces still shining bright in his hand.

"…What will I see when I finish the puzzle?", he asked, averting his gaze.

Matt and Megan's answer echoed across the halls of Cavendish's mind.

"You will see yourself."

"Considering how this day has been going, not something I will like, then?", Cavendish asked, but the two were already gone.

Turning back, he mumbled an unsure "Ok" and got to work on the final pieces.

More and more instances of unrequited mistreatment from Cavendish were seen by him, countless shouts and put downs and insults and more.

He saw himself distance himself, he saw himself block and deflect Dakota's love away, and he saw himself act like, for lack of a better word, like a prick.

Cavendish sighed gloomily. At least he could argue that the last few accusations depended on your point of view: Here, there was no argument that Cavendish was doing something wrong.

Finally, one piece left, he couldn't stand it no more.

Steam blowing out of his ears, he threw the shard down on the ground, and while it didn't shatter, it didn't stop Cavendish from stomping on the ground in anger, enraged and furious at all this.

"It can't be! It can't be!", Cavendish bellowed, wanting to smash his head in and be done with it.

His whole self was terrified: The very concept of him having been completely and totally wrong for 35 years shook him to his very core.

It wasn't just a matter of ego (though Cavendish very much wanted to have that restored): If all these accusations, all these claims were true, this would mean that Cavendish had spent a majority of his life making the wrong choices, doing the wrong things, being the villain of his own story instead of the sexy and badass conquering hero.

And even worse was that it made no sense!

Wasn't this how things were supposed to be?

Society just worked that way!

He was supposed to be like this…

No?

Cavendish reanalyzed his last few thoughts as he rested on his knees.

Was he supposed to be like this?

If he was, surely he wouldn't be feeling this guilty, surely his mind wouldn't be sending him through this mad quest of introspection.

…SOMETHING was wrong.

Maybe it wasn't him, but something WAS wrong.

Cavendish sighed again and slowly picked up the final glass shard, his reflection bouncing off of it.

He had to find out.

He HAD to.

The shard played a final memory: Dakota's tears as Cavendish blamed it all on him.

Dakota, the man who had saved his life over and over and over again…

And he had made him cry, just because Dakota had dared correct him.

Cavendish's eyes narrowed, his heart beat slowed down and his will grew steady.

Something was WRONG…

And Cavendish was going to find out what it was, even if it painted him as the devil himself.

Fueled with determination, Cavendish stood up, took a deep breath, and, with precise movement, he placed the piece in its place.

A moment passed, and nothing happened. Cavendish wondered if perhaps he was supposed to say something, or maybe he had missed a piece.

But he was soon answered: The tunnel rumbled, dirt falling on his head, dropping him to the ground with a thud.

The finished puzzle glowed and hummed, as the pieces began to form a single image, a solid solution.

Shaking the dirt off of his hat, Cavendish blinked the dust from his eyes and rubbed them to clear his blurry vision.

Straddling to his feet, slipping for a moment, Cavendish was finally able to look into the mirror.

For a moment, he hesitated: What was he going to see?

But the fresh wound of his actions still burned, and Cavendish's good side roused the courage to look in the mirror and into himself and see what was wrong.

But even Cavendish's good side was shocked into silence by the man staring back at him.

Years of denial and walls of self protection crumbled to the ground as Cavendish observed the figure in the mirror, not even daring to touch its outstretched whitered hand or wheathered face.

For in the reflection of the shiny white mirror stood not Balthazar T. Cavendish, the great hero who never faltered, nor Balthazar Cavendish, the toxic partner and "friend" who rejected love, or even Balthy, the genuinely well meaning person who truly did love his friends, who truly was good at heart.

No, none of those were present in the mirror…

For in the reflection stood none other than Balthazar Cavendish's Father.

**Natalia:**

_To A Tunnel…_

**Nick:**

_Of Its Own…_

Shock, denial, rage, all filled up to the brim inside Cavendish's mind.

Why, the very idea!

The NOTION that he, Balthazar T. Cavendish, was ANYTHING like that monster, that awful man, was… Was… Was nothing short of preposterous!

"It… It can't be!", he suddenly shouted out, a mad look in his eyes as he stared back at his beast of a Father. "It… IT CAN'T BE!"

"Oh, but it is, boy. Don't you see?", Cavendish Sr. said, calm, composed, cold and calculated in his approach. "You've finally become a man. You've finally become me."

Cavendish's nostrils flared and his ears buzzed with deafening loudness as he began to pound the mirror, trying desperately not to think of all the things he had done.

"No! I refuse to accept this! I am not like him! I could never be like him!"

Pound, pound, pound went his hands on the mirror, which shook and started to form small cracks, but as ever, Cavendish failed to notice such details until it was too late, and then some.

Continuing to impart "justice" on this slight on his honor, Cavendish began to scream his defense for all to hear, but mostly for himself.

"I COULD NEVER BE LIKE HIM! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! IT. DOESN'T. MAKE…."

But as Cavendish punctuated and emphasized the "SENSE!" in the sentence, the mirror shattered to a thousand shards once more, and as Cavendish tried to pound it again he found himself doing something impossible once more: He was falling into the mirror, as if it was a window to another dimension.

Which it was, but to be fair, how could he know that?

His eyes widened as he realized the fall that was befalling him, but alas, it was too late for poor Cavendish, who tumbled down, in what seemed to be, perculier as that is, a rabbit hole!

As Cavendish fell, he began to notice a great many things that were wrong with this hole: Scientifically speaking, rabbits shouldn't have maps or pictures hanging on pegs, let alone bookshelves!

And what's this? A jar of Orange Marmalade?

Will the absurdities ever end?

"Next thing you know, it'll be wearing a waistcoat with a ridiculously large pocket watch!", Cavendish joked to himself, whilst simultaneously noting that he had been falling for a long time.

A gust of wind blew, and Cavendish saw his shirt fly up, which was odd, because 1. Gusts of wind don't occur in rabbit holes, 2. His shirt shouldn't be flying this high up and 3. He wasn't wearing a shirt.

He was wearing a light blue and white dress, with a blue hair bow which fit quite nicely.

Suddenly, Cavendish realized what was going on.

"…You have got to be kidding me. Surely I've done at least 6 impossible things during breakfast alone!", Cavendish complained to the people in charge of his long psychological analysis, but they would not listen.

And so Cavendish continued to float down, with the occasional eye roll, scoff or tut as the ground came nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and is that a zebra? Why is it calling him Kevin and oh look the ground!

SMASH! went Cavendish as he crashed down, and, fixing his dress and shaking off the dirt from it, he started to observe his surroundings.

Sure enough, he was now in a purple hallway, with absurdly proportioned tables and chairs, a tiny wooden door, and two white rabbits with waistcoats and giant pocket watches.

The two rabbits (really Patrick and Penny in disguise) greeted him with the next two lyrics.

**Patrick:**

_Down A Hollow…_

**Penny:**

_To A Cavern…_

"Ooh, caverns, tunnels and hollows!", Cavendish "gushed" as he began to follow the hopping rabbits down the hall. "Did the budget fail to consider my comfort? I could use a nice water bed, or a cruise ship. Or a giant cheese."

Sighing, he watched the rabbits impatiently as they opened the door. "I assume I must follow you to find out why you'd accuse me of such insanity as being like dear old dad?"

The rabbits nodded as they expertly brought down the key from the high high table and began to fit it in the lock.

Cavendish sighed. He DID want to find out what was going on, his interest (and guilt) were too piqued to leave just yet.

"At least for Dakota…", he breathed deeply, and he began to glug down the Drink Me bottle.

As he shrunk, an obvious question passed his mind: "May I at least wear my normal clothes for this? Dresses and I just don't mix."

"I think it's a lovely shade on you!", Patrick complimented, and Penny nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, I think that you'd taste marvelous in a stew, but you don't see me forcing you in, do I?", Cavendish threatened, causing Patrick and Penny to cower in fright.

Cavendish's soul guilt tripped him and he regretted the statement: Regardless of how baseless some of the charges were against him, these kids WERE trying to help him.

And to be honest, he HAD sort of asked for it back at The Breakfast Burrito Place.

Sighing, he offered an apology that wasn't 100% sincere, but was close enough to make a passing grade. "I'm sorry, it's been a long… Morning?", he said, honestly not sure how much time had passed in the real world.

"The sale on mineral water is most definitely off.", Cavendish thought gloomily.

Patrick and Penny accepted the apology, Cavendish found himself back in his regular clothes, and off they were through the door and into…

"Great Scott! My old home back in Andford!", Cavendish expressed in surprise as he stepped out of the door and into his past.

Old sights and sounds and smells came flooding back, and for a moment, an odd nostalgia for a traumatic place swelled in Cavendish's heart.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of morning dew and daisy flowers.

"Well, I must admit, I am pleasantly surprised! It's quite dandy being back here in Cavendish country!", Cavendish proclaimed, and he raised an eyebrow at the rabbits near him.

"I'm not sure why we're here, Patrick and Penny, but I'm not complaining!"

As he went forwards to pick a daisy to sniff it, admiring the freshly cut lawn in front of him, Cavendish's eyes were suddenly caught by something all together more interesting…

"I finished washing the car, Dad!"

Cavendish's eyes widened and for the first time in a while, a genuine smile rose on his lips: In front of him stood none other than himself, at the tender age of 10 years old, looking spiritely and bright as ever.

The younger Cavendish had just finished washing Cavendish Sr.'s car, and he was now proudly showcasing it to the owner in question, sweat beads surrounding the hope filled eyes.

Cavendish couldn't help but chuckle warmly, failing to notice Patrick and Penny being replaced by Peter and Sarah, who displayed decidedly more concerned faces than the adult sandwiched next to them.

Cavendish crouched down to their level, proudly showing himself off.

"Would you look at that? 10 years old and washing cars! Sure, it's for a colossal asshole, but you have to admit its impressive!"

He then closed his eyes proudly, showing off his waistcoat.

"And I think we're all in agreement that my sense of style has always been "hip" and "with it", as the cool kids say!"

Peter and Sarah didn't respond, but not for the reasons Cavendish thought.

"Oh, what do you know? You're rabbits with waistcoats, you wouldn't know what trendy was if it multiplied with you fibonucci style!", Cavendish complained, but they stayed silent.

Getting a little wary now, Cavendish looked at the rabbits with a mixture of fear and alarm. "You're not usually silent unless something bad is about to happen. What am I missing? What's the terrible thing I did here?"

Peter and Sarah didn't answer.

They didn't need to.

Cavendish soon saw the cause of their silence, soon to be the cause of his shock.

"…No…", he could barely breath, as his eyes bulged out and his heart beat like a marching drum.

For now standing beside younger Cavendish, shyly staring at his shoes and looking like he had cried for more than just a night, was…

"…Ollie…"

The name hung in the air like an unspoken tragedy, and Cavendish felt tears run to his eyes immediately as he witnessed the one memory he had suppressed most of all.

"No… No, please! Anything but this!", he begged, pleading, kissing the rabbit's feet.

"Show me the mirror again! Show me my deaths again! Show me Mr. Block belly dancing! Just not this!"

But his prayers fell on deaf ears, and Cavendish could not look away as he witnessed his younger self just ignore Oliver.

Stand with his back to him.

Shun him…

His only friend.

The one person who truly understood him.

Oliver was heartbroken, and he silently walked back, mustering just one look.

"Please… Don't go… I didn't mean it… I… I just…", Cavendish stammered, but even he knew that he had no real excuse, as Oliver turned to dust in front of his eyes and younger Cavendish grinned at a proud Cavendish Sr.

**Peter:**

_Where The Sun…_

**Sarah:**

_Has Never Shone…_

Water sprinklers lightly grazed Cavendish's trousers, and dew smudged his glasses, but Cavendish had no time for such trivial matters, his mind far too focused on clenching his fists like no person had done before.

Somehow, of all the memories and accusations so far, this was miles away the worst!

Anger rose up in his chest like a kettle boiling, he couldn't believe the sight before him.

Bad enough that the boy… No, HE, Balthazar Cavendish, HE had done that to Oliver, but he was also getting encouragement from his father, that vile villain?

"It couldn't get worse", Cavendish muttered through gritted teeth. "It couldn't!"

But of course, it did.

"Excellent work, Balthazar! Finally, you showed that puff what for!", Cavendish Sr. commended, and he returned to the house with a flourish.

Younger Cavendish beamed, his heart swelling with pride. "Don't worry, Father…", he said out loud to himself. "I'll be just like you, and then you'll be even prouder!"

That's.

It.

That was the final straw.

Cavendish wasn't sure of much today, but he knew that he LOATHED, no DESPISED, no ABHORED his Father!

And here he was, wishing to emulate him?!

No.

This he would not accept.

Looking at Peter and Sarah with a look of utter denial, he spat out venom with every word.

"HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF THIS? I… I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM! I… I COULD NEVER BE!"

He couldn't take this anymore.

He couldn't stand this nightmare no longer.

Thunder crashed and rain poured down like a storm as he began to do the only thing that made sense: Run.

His feet pounding down the old cracked road, Cavendish did not dare look back as he kept shouting above a thundering heart "I Couldn't!"

He rounded the corner.

"I couldn't!"

He passed the park.

"I wouldn't!"

He approached a large building, seeds of doubt sprouting as he saw Oliver pass by in his Father's car.

"I shouldn't!"

And as he entered the building, the revolving doors spun like a spinning top, spinning him into the building, which was no longer a building, but a forest clearing.

"I haven't!", he continued to yell, desperately, heaving now as he huffed and puffed, hands on his knees.

His eyes suddenly darted to see his younger self on the tree branch all those years ago.

His ears stopped buzzing as he saw Oliver.

His mouth stopped emitting sounds as he heard himself wish to be loved.

And his heart stopped as he saw himself finally give love to someone else.

**Sid:**

_Like A Door…_

**Sydney:**

_That Keeps Revolving…_

**Tyan:**

_In A Half…_

**Tyler:**

_Forgotten Dream…_

Cavendish watched with stunned silence as he saw that once…

He was someone completely different.

Sure, the flaws were still there…

But here he was…

Treating a Dakota like a Dakota should be treated.

So…

What happened?

"I… I… I shouldn't…"

And then, just like that, a sound caught his attention, he turned his head to the left and, with a resounding crack…

CRACK!

Cavendish Sr. Smacked him in the face again, removing a metaphysical tooth and sending Cavendish soaring through the sky.

Clouds and trees zoomed past, and for a moment, Cavendish wondered if it would ever end, but then it did, as he began to approach a stream.

Instead of drowning however, you know, like a normal person would…

He began to skid on it like a…

**Vincent:**

_Or The Ripples…_

**Wally (Not Ours):**

_From A Pebble…_

Suddenly, the kids were replaced with two adult men: One in the shower, holding a bar of soap, the other clearly a product of the 1980's which had never been recalled. Unfortunately.

**Barney:**

_Someone Tosses…_

**Bomber:**

_In A Stream…_

But Cavendish didn't even have time to be confused by the sudden shift to adult singers since as he continued to skid along the stream, he began to feel different.

Scenes of his mistreatment of Dakota, of his rash decision making, of his egotistical nature ran rings around his head, and the spectre of his Father, actually approving of all this only made things worse.

But it didn't last, as Cavendish reached the end of the stream and collided with a lonely lamppost in the middle of nowhere.

Rubbing the sore spot that now resided on the back of his head, and feeling exhausted all over his body, Cavendish hung his head low, noticing a puddle.

On the one hand, he really didn't want to look in, as he knew that what he would see would upset him greatly.

But at the same time, a terrible truth was becoming more and more apparent, and Cavendish couldn't run away from it no more.

Sighing, he shivered and shook as he glanced down to see…

His Father, looking right back at him.

But Cavendish knew that this wasn't his Father.

It was…

It was…

"…I shouldn't…", he began, throat clenched, a pool of tears forming next to the puddle.

"…But I have… Haven't I?"

And for a few moments, Cavendish sat there, crying softly and silently into the night, as he finally accepted some criticism.

The denial was slipping away, as Cavendish thought of all the times he had mistreated Dakota, all the times he had treated him like trash…

And how scarily reminiscent they were of his Father.

First his Mother, now Dakota.

Good people were always suffering thanks to the Male Cavendish's.

As his mind continued to waver, the realization that he had become the thing he hated most continuing to shatter his soul, Barney and Bomber walked in, dressed like White Rabbits.

They sat down next to Cavendish, who held his knees close to his chest and hung his head low.

"Balthazar…", began Barney, sympathy present in his voice.

"I… I don't understand…", Cavendish whispered, disbelief stretched across his face.

Bomber squirmed in his seat. Barney twiddled his thumbs. Both men looked quite uncomfortable.

"I… I don't understand…", Cavendish tried to force out, but instead he continued to sob.

"Go on…", Bomber encouraged, a hand now comforting Cavendish's shoulder.

Cavendish glanced at him, and Bomber sent him a sad smile.

"We're here for you, Cavendish. Tell us what ails you. Please."

Cavendish turned to Barney, who nodded curtly. "It's the job description, Cavendish. We want to help you."

"You shouldn't help me.", Cavendish professed, darkness and sadness invading his speech. "You shouldn't help me at all."

"Cavendish, look, I know what this feels like…", Bomber started, but Cavendish interrupted.

"No, you don'!", Cavendish shouted, and the shouts echoed down the empty street.

Cavendish took note of the smog and ash and stormy skies above, of the near grey roads and sights, of the cobbled path he sat on that was cracked beyond recognition.

Cavendish sighed and looked downtrodden on the downtrodden street.

"I… I hate him.", Cavendish finally professed. "I really do."

Cavendish shivered and visibly shook as he related his backstory.

"He beat me as a child, from a very early age. Tried to toughen me up. Said I wasn't good enough."

Cavendish's scars began to glow as he took a deep breath.

"Said I wasn't a man."

Barney offered Cavendish a hankerchif, and Cavendish gladly used it, throwing it into a suddenly there wastebasket which then disappeared as promptly as it appeared.

Cavendish's breath flowed in the wind, his weathered face, now half shapen like his fathers, but also half shapen like his own, appearing frank for the first time in years.

"And now, I just want it to make sense."

Cavendish licked his cracked lips, feeling how dry his throat was.

"…I need a drink."

Out of thin air, Bomber retrieved a warm cup of tea, 2 sugars, and just a little bit of mint.

He handed it to Cavendish, who was pleasantly surprised by the soothing mug before him.

"Oh… Thank you.", he said genuinely, touched by the gesture.

Cavendish took a liberal sip, feeling a little refreshed.

"That's better. That's better. That hits the spot.", Cavendish said, and he set the mug down for now.

Letting out a now warm breath, Cavendish returned to his introspection.

Blinking to refocus his sights on the stormy clouds, which painted an image of his Father belittling his Mother, Cavendish began to truly dig deep.

"My Father treated my Mother terribly. Shouted at her, belittled her, disrespected her…"

A tear trickled down as Cavendish felt his Mother's gentle touch in his heart.

"The poor soul."

Four new singers appeared, encouraging him to carry on.

**Ms. Camilichec:**

_Like A Clock…_

**Mr. Decker:**

_Whose Hands Are Sweeping…_

**Destiny Summers:**

_Past The Minutes…_

**Edwin Garner:**

_Of Its Face…_

Cavendish continued. "And… And I remember seeing that… And saying to myself (when I wasn't being beaten for protesting)… That when I'm married… When I'm in love… I'd treat my love right."

He smiled for a moment, remembering the wish. "I'd love them… And I'd never make them feel beneath me."

But his words, as did the picture, began to reflect the truth.

"But now that I think about it… All the things that you showed me… All the things I did… And I look at them honestly… If I am honest… With myself…"

Cavendish's heart began to crack as he saw himself shout and belittle Dakota.

As he saw himself in his father…

And his Father in himself…

"I loathed him so much… And I loved myself so much…"

A great and terrible truth made itself apparent in the windmills of his mind.

"That I failed to see… That I had become him."

Cavendish began to weep quietly, his tears falling down silently, causing a tiny pool that began to sweep him away.

**Erik Jones:**

_And The World…_

**Eugene (Milo's Doctor):**

_Is Like An Apple…_

**Frances:**

_Whirling Silently…_

**Mrs. Garner:**

_In Space…_

But Cavendish didn't notice that, he was far too busy noticing himself for the first time.

"How could I have been so blind?", he asked no one in particular as he floated away, feeling less than real.

Feeling like a spirit in his own body.

Not in control…

And desperate for relief.

He thought of all that Dakota did: All the kisses and hugs, all the meals and laughs, all the quiet, kind moments that had passed by him like insignificant flies…

All the times he wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him.

And in return, he had treated him like a deasiese…

When he himself was the problem.

How could he claim to be a perfect hero when he so clearly was at fault?

How could he be the hero…

If he acted like a monster?

Cavendish closed his eyes and sighed. "Something IS wrong…"

He opened his eyes. "And it's me…"

Suddenly, the pool he was floating on turned into stars and he was back in space, but he didn't care.

He could float here until the end of time, it didn't matter.

Nothing did.

And if anything did, he'd just ruin it.

**Mr. Hartoonian:**

_Like The Circles…_

**Mr. Menke:**

_That You Find…_

**Jebediah Murphy:**

_In The Windmills…_

**Joey Logano:**

_Of Your Mind…_

As Cavendish's body floated in the inky sea of stars, like a boat with no sail, almost peaceful in his solemn sadness, a voice that sounded almost like his Mother sounded out from the depths and echoes, from the corners and the borders of space, all over and all encompassing.

"…Cavendish?..."

Cavendish said nothing.

He didn't want to even try to defend himself.

"…Cavendish…", the voice pressed again.

Cavendish sighed. He wasn't escaping this either, huh?

"Yes, mysterious voice?", he asked, a voice full of pain.

"Cavendish… We have to continue…"

"There's more?", Cavendish asked, incredulous.

He didn't need to see it nod, he knew it was true.

He let out a dark, lonely chuckle. "Well… I guess I should have seen that coming."

"Cavendish… You took a serious step a minute ago… Many people never admit to their flaws…"

"Many people don't spend 35 years being the thing they hate most.", Cavendish darkly retorted, and the voice laughed affectionately.

"Balthazar, you'd be surprised."

"Today's been full of them."

"And they're not over yet."

Cavendish closed his eyes in pain, wishing for it to just be over already. "Do we have to? I feel bad as it is."

"Cavendish… You answered an important question today…"

Cavendish continued to rock softly in space, his vision blurry as he felt tired.

"But…", the voice whispered, sympathetically. "It's not over yet. You must answer another question."

Time seemed to slow down to a turtles pace as the voice asked the big one:

"It's time to answer the most important question…"

She whispered softly, in an almost curious tone:

"Who… Are you… Balthazar Cavendish?..."

Suddenly, the stars scattered every which way, swaying like waves in the sea, before suddenly gathering into one spot, where they all fused into one shape.

The form the stars were taking was getting larger and clearer by the moment, facial features and memories one would rather forget forging themselves into an avatar of Cavendish's frozen self on the alien ship more than a year ago.

"Are you the hero? The all conquering perfect colossus who can do no wrong?"

Cavendish cringed at the description, and it got worse when he saw the next option: Cavendish sleeping alone on the apartment floor, shivering and shaking.

"Are you the failure? The "man" destined to be alone because he drove everyone away?

And it then got even worse: An image of Dakota and him at Chez Chaz when he shouted at him.

"Are you… Your Father?", a hint of sadness, of warning was now present in the voice.

Cavendish gulped at that and his blood ran cold.

Was he?

Was it too late?

…Did he have any hope?

And finally, another image came up…

Of a 10 year old boy smiling at his friend and being kind.

"Or are you the 10 year old boy who only wanted to love and be loved in return?"

Cavendish looked down, wondering if he could ever be that.

If he ever was.

"In short: What is your part… In this vast universe?"

Her voice turned to a whisper.

"Who… Are… You?"

The options raced and argued inside his mind…

Making their cases, stating their minds…

Waging a storm in his heart…

And Cavendish wished he could just choose one and be done with it…

He wished he could be human…

But he knew that he wasn't.

So once again…

Cavendish felt lost in the grand scheme of things.

Once again…

Cavendish was alone.

"I… I…"

He sighed, resigned to his fate.

"I don't know."

Cavendish's tears returned while the voice tried again.

"Cavendish… You keep saying you don't know…"

A loving smile crept in her voice. "But I know… Deep down… That you are better than this."

Cavendish continued to float, but he did try to listen.

"You CAN improve. You just need to take the next step and learn what else you've done wrong… And why."

Cavendish, however, wasn't sure.

"What good will it do? The damage is done. Dakota is hurt, and it's all my fault."

"And if I told you there was a chance? If I told you that you could make sure Dakota is never hurt again?"

Despite his vested self interest in protecting himself, Cavendish was almost hooked.

But he still had to ask.

"…Will it hurt?", he asked, fear present in his tone.

"…Yes.", she whispered.

"…But it will help Dakota?", he asked, more urgently this time, needing to know if it was possible.

"…Yes."

Cavendish took a deep breath.

This was not going to be easy…

But when was life ever easy?

"If… If I really have been nothing but terrible for 35 years… And if someone like Dakota was hurt by me…"

He took a deep breath. "Then I will continue… If it means I can undo it just a little. If I can help Dakota…"

He choked down a sob.

"If that's the least I can do… Then I'll at least do that."

He then spoke like a child, afraid of being punished. "I didn't mean to do all this. I really didn't."

"I know…", the voice reassured. "But it's time to make things right."

Cavendish's voice turned small. "…I'm afraid."

"You won't be alone.", the voice comforted.

Cavendish took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and made a decision in his heart.

He then opened his eyes, determination emanating from them.

"All right… Let's finish this."


	7. Too Late?

And so…

Cavendish was propelled back to Earth, soaring down the sky until he crashed back down on Earth.

His head now buried in… Snow, for some reason.

"It's late October. It couldn't be snowing already.", Cavendish thought, but it had been a most confusing day, admittedly.

Getting up and barely bothering to dust himself off, a frosty and shivering Cavendish observed that he was in front of Josh's Convenience Store, with a perfect view of…

"…My family…"

Yes, beyond that smudged glass window pane with orange flyers for something or other, Cavendish could clearly see Milo, Melissa, Zack, Sara, Doof, Martin, Brigette, even Amanda (who had been absent for a while from family activities), buying things in the grocery store, and having a jolly good time.

Cavendish didn't need to hear them to know that they were in an excellent mood: He could tell by Milo's eyes that the boy was recounting another wild story, he could tell by Melissa's smile that she was readying a sassy addition to it, Zack and Sara's laughs were as clear as the love shared between Martin and Brigette, who play flirted, Doof was tripping over something (of course) and despite a clear hesitation in her eyes, one could see that even Amanda was enjoying the show.

Cavendish's heart swelled; It was like only now he had realized how much he loved each and every one of them.

Melissa's confident smile that radiated a strength that Cavendish only wished he had. Zack's relieved tone when nothing crazy was happening around him. Sara's adorkable laugh, that should have been grating, but just wasn't. Martin's warm smile, one that always incited feelings of safety. Brigette's calm smile, that made you feel safe in a different way. Doof's apologetic smile, as if he needed to apologize for being himself. Amanda's secret, hidden smile, one that rarely came out…

And Milo's hopeful eyes, eyes that almost made Cavendish believe that even he could be saved.

Overtaken by love, Cavendish had to go in, he had to get himself back into their lives and apologize.

The compulsion was all encompassing, it had to be done!

Stepping forwards, he stretched his hand towards opening the grocery store doors, but for some reason, he felt like there was something in his hand…

And just as he began to enter…

CLICK!

"What the…", Cavendish exclaimed, seeing that he somehow handcuffed himself.

…No.

No, no!

He was stopping himself!

"I have to act fast!", he thought, and he tried to call out to them, waving his hand maniacally, but they couldn't hear his voice.

Why couldn't they…

"Mmm."

"Mmm."

"Mmm?!"

Looking down, Cavendish saw the problem: His mouth was zipped shut.

And try as he might, he couldn't unzip it!

He struggled and struggled, scratches now covering his already frail hand, but it was no use.

He couldn't call them.

He hadn't let himself call them.

Milo, Melissa, Zack, Sara, Amanda, Doof, Martin and Brigette all left the store, laughing and smiling and living, surrounded by sun every step they took, while Cavendish desperately tried to leap towards them, but the snow began to cover him, and he couldn't see.

It was really thick now, and Cavendish felt himself getting blurry eyed.

He had to get to them…

He had to talk to them…

He had to be loved…

But it felt… Oddly safe…

To say nothing…

And as he blinked, the snow slowly shifted and twisted until…

"Surfs up!"

Cavendish turned towards the phrase, confused.

"It's snowing, you dolt!", he insulted, disbelief present on his face. How could some people be so dimwitted?

"Seriously!", he thought as he stood up in the sweltering heat. "It's clearly…"

Suddenly, he slipped and fell, his head colliding on the slightly softer ground, his eyes now itchy thanks to…

"Sand?", Cavendish observed, confused.

He looked around him, puzzled and bewildered to find a sunny, sandy beach instead of a winter wonderland.

Slowly shifting his feet, the sand getting between his toes, Cavendish felt his entire body shiver despite being directly under the sun's rays.

He could hear the ocean rise and fall, he could hear the soothing beach wind, he could hear the Frisbee bonking him on the…

BONK!

…Head.

Despite this, it almost felt peaceful.

And then he opened his eyes.

Passing him, hand in hand, were Dakota…

And himself.

They shared loving looks and passionate smiles, and Cavendish stared in awe as he saw something very unusual…

A happy Cavendish.

Behind them were of course Milo, Melissa, Zack, Sara and Amanda, all running around, laughing it up, preparing to surf the day away.

Cavendish suddenly remembered: He knew this day.

It was one of the last days of summer, a bit before he began to… Lose interest?

Man, that sounded so douchy.

Anyway, this was one of the last pleasant memories he and Dakota shared.

It had been a magical day, as the kids and the dads had surfed, played volleyball and ate delicious watermelon under a starry sky.

Cavendish hadn't laughed that much in years, he remembered.

It felt like a million years ago, and a different universe.

Here he was, smiling and laughing and sharing.

Cavendish couldn't help but wonder why he had given up on all this.

'Cause… He had, hadn't he?

But…

No, that didn't make sense!

Sure, he had ignored Dakota for some god awful reason, but he still treated the kids well, no?

He had been quite nice to them on the date night, that he remembered!

Surely they were treated well!

…But the way this day was going, Cavendish was getting more and more alarmed at the prospect that perhaps…

Perhaps he had fucked this up too.

"…Well?", he asked no one in particular. "Did I hurt them too?"

At first, he wondered why there was no answer, since they usually just told him what was wrong.

He then deduced that since he usually had avoided listening to them, he had to make it clear that he wanted to know.

"Please, I want to know! I…"

He choked back a sob. "I do care for them. They…"

He thought back to the date night.

"They helped me… Even though I was a total dick. They're wonderful children. Smart… Adorable… Brilliant…"

He sighed. "I wish I was half of what they are now."

He bowed his head in shame. "If I hurt them as well… At least let me know. It's bad enough I hurt Dakota… Surely I didn't… Surely I didn't treat them terribly as well… Right?"

Cavendish thought back to all the times the kids had been there for him, all the lovely memories, kind gestures…

All to a man who had been nothing but a pain in their ass for a long time.

Cavendish sighed morosely, knowing what was coming, but welcoming it anyway.

"I promised I'd do this for Dakota… And I want to do this for them as well…"

"…Please… Please tell me if I hurt them as well…"

Suddenly, as Cavendish looked down, his eyes caught a…

A footprint.

Normally, a footprint wasn't important, but Cavendish felt strangely attracted to it…

Which meant that it had to do something with the people in his head.

Taking a deep breath, bracing himself, Cavendish got ready. "Well… Here goes nothing…"

Touching the footprint, Cavendish suddenly felt intense, powerful, all encompassing love.

Unconditional, unrestrained, unbelievable love.

Love that went to the top of his head to the ends of his toes.

Love that forgave, that forgot, that filled his essence to the brim.

Love that saw beyond the flaws, and found the beauty, that would sooth instead of scold, that would understand…

Love that didn't take a break.

Cavendish felt his whole soul shake and shiver, he felt his whole being light up…

And suddenly, he found himself…

Afraid.

This love…

He didn't need it.

He didn't want it.

Or…

Well…

He didn't deserve it.

They were better than him.

He could never really care for them.

He'd just ruin their lives…

Like he did Dakota's.

And suddenly, just like that, it was gone.

He had rejected them.

"No… No! Wait, I…", only now did Cavendish realize what he had done.

He didn't want to lose them!

Did he?

Maybe?

Wait, no!

Wait…

Wait…

Cavendish began to feel tired, and an odd sound of drumming sounded behind him as he began to destroy the footprint with his fingers.

Surely…

He loved them…

No?

The color drained from his face again, as he turned grey and lifeless, a husk behind dark eyes that closed shut as the sand swallowed him…

This time…

He didn't even bother to call for them.

He was afraid of it, almost.

Of their love.

"How could they?", he thought, as the sand turned to grey water, and he drowned and drowned, its evil whispers filling his ears with surrender.

"…How could they love me?"

And as he sunk and sunk and sunk, the water draining and drowning and drowsing, Cavendish's eyes could see the ones he loved…

No, wait, the ones who loved him…

Wait, no, you don't say…

"I do love them…"

"I do…"

"…Right?"

Cavendish began to panic.

Did…

Did he not?

Was he such a monster?

No!

NO NO NO NO!

No, it couldn't be!

Surely this was false!

Surely he did love them!

As he looked around, he saw that he wasn't drowning…

He was on a bed.

And around him were pictures of them.

And around him were their faces.

And around him were their words as they sang.

But he could barely hear the words.

And he didn't want to.

He just wanted to be left alone…

To do what he wants and be who he wants.

He didn't need others.

He was Balthazar Cavendish, and he didn't need anyone!

He was a man, and men need not be tied to other people, even wonderful people who love and care and make you feel like maybe life is worth living.

Even if they make you feel for once…

Even if you'd die for them…

You are only delaying the inevitable.

They don't need you.

So just distance yourself…

'Cause it's easier.

You can't get hurt if you never love, right?

But…

But he did love them!

No?

They had been such wonderful people to him…

Surely he did!

Surely he loved Monty, and Mauricia, and Zane, and Suzy, and Anna, and…

"…What?"

Cavendish…

He couldn't…

He couldn't remember their names.

Eyes widened in shock, he began to scream, only to zip himself up…

"BUT WHY?! I DO LOVE THEM! I DO!"

But no one could hear.

And perhaps…

He didn't want them to hear.

Perhaps he really did think it was easier like this.

Perhaps he really did want to be alone.

"I get to choose. I get to be who I want to be. I get whatever I want, I get whatever I desire, and no one forces me to try."

And then he thought…

"But I don't get to be loved."

And Cavendish began to wonder…

If that was worth losing…

If never surrendering was what was stopping him from being happy?

Never again to feel the soft embrace, never again to see the warmth in the smiles, never again to be loved…

All he had was himself.

But was that good enough?

Was that enough?

Why was he letting them go?

They didn't give up on him when he did.

And yet, here he was, letting them go.

"…But I… I do love them…"

"…Right?"

But Cavendish knew…

He had chosen that love was too hard…

He couldn't be with them…

Because he had decided to let them go.

"Well… I got what I wanted…", he thought, as he suddenly woke up in a bed of orange leaves, the wind howling as he found in the palm of his hands Dakota's head.

He wasn't even startled anymore as he caressed the hair, noting…

**Balthazar Cavendish:**

_That The Automn Leaves Were Turning… To The Color Of His Hair…_

And as he held the head close, he realized…

"But I lost you guys. I lost your weird, annoying, strange and sometimes outright inconvenient love."

He began to cry.

"I only wanted to be loved… And yet when I was… I threw it away."

He looked at the empty street.

He sighed.

"I am Balthazar T. Cavendish…"

He sighed again.

"And I am alone. Because I'm afraid… Of being loved. Because… Why?"

He asked, genuinely.

"Why… Am I afraid? Why am I being like this?"

He sobbed.

"It… It doesn't make sense."

And suddenly, he was next to the Breakfast Burrito store.

The place where it all started and ended.

But Cavendish was now not afraid of going in.

In fact, he was downright determined.

"…I have to know. I have to make things right. Just for once, Cavendish, just for once do something for them!"

And so, he walked in, for once ready to face his past…


	8. You Love Everyone But Yourself

The water goes down.

5 bruised bones in the arms, legs and chest.

And down.

4 knife wounds, gashing and pulsating. Seeping. Burning.

And down.

3 times that his nose had spewed some blood. The toilet paper in the shower was clearly a bad idea, but weren't they all?

And down.

2 tears, indistinguishable from the shower water that made his hair look mousy and messy and morose.

And down.

And 1 broken heart.

And down.

Vinnie Dakota sat in the shower/bathtub/bandage museum of his guilt inducing guests The Murphys.

His family.

His sanctuary.

His everything.

And like all things in Dakota's short and seemingly inconsequential life…

He was failing to justify his place with them.

Sighing, his wounds ringing alarm bells in his mind, Dakota continued to sit in the tub, reflecting on the decisions that led him here.

A week ago, he had gone bowling, and, like any normal person, had considered suicide.

If that seems grim, you are clearly reading the wrong series for you.

Then, his worries were momentarily dashed with the figure of his first success (of sorts): Gretchen Galindo, a cynical and depressed former co-worker who had managed to dare to care for the first time in decades.

And for a beautiful, consistent 18 hours or so, Dakota had managed to actually believe that he could help others.

But his 45 year mission was still not complete: Cavendish had made sure of that on their date two days later.

And seeing the one person he wanted to save most be worse than all his failures sent Dakota railing.

He had returned to the Murphy's that night, but one could tell that Dakota had never really left the restaurant.

In fact, he seemed somewhere else, somewhere all too familiar to the man who loved so much, almost too much he felt at times.

A shiver down his spine.

And for a moment, he could smell the smog of the streets.

Streets all too familiar, streets he had walked in for the past 4 nights, trying too hard as ever, failing over and over as ever.

The tears began to outrace the shower water as Dakota felt the pain.

Oh it hurt.

Even worse…

It was pointless pain, wasn't it?

It was all… Pointless.

He…

He was pointless.

"45 years of trying to make sense of myself… You'd think I'd get better…", he dryly chuckled, but it was more of a sob.

It was always more of a sob.

Away from the madding crowd, away from the kids he loved and the friends he cherished and the lonely girl who needed to be persuaded like he couldn't and away from all the failures…

The clown's smile wavered…

And his true face showed.

Vinnie Dakota was no hero.

He was the clown.

Trying to raise smiles…

And falling flat on his face.

And as the smile disappeared, so did the bath tub.

As Dakota remembered how he had replaced his inner pain with outer pain.

Sitting now on wood, instead of porcaline, feeling rainwater instead of shower water, rubbing scars on the inside rather than out, Vinnie Dakota kept a hard stare at an alleyway.

The park was normally cheerful and full of life, but it was 3 in the morning.

No one came by then…

Except for the fools and the demons.

So many were suffering…

And so many would continue too…

If he didn't get off his ass.

As Dakota stood up, the bags in his eyes braced against the rain, but it didn't matter.

They were staying long term it seemed, but they better be the only bad thing staying tonight.

His legs like jelly, Dakota inched across the grass, never averting his eyes from the latest threat to those he loved.

It wore black leather jackets.

It brandished pocket knives with an alluring glint.

And even more alluring, was the "special" prize they hid: Heroin.

"Taking on drug dealers… Not my smartest plan.", Dakota admitted as he kept going.

But… When was that not the case?

Dakota knew he couldn't take on these guys.

Even with the cavalry approaching in 3 minutes, Dakota knew that his fists could only help so much.

But right now…

Dakota didn't give a shit if he died or not.

He had a family to protect, a suicidal friend to protect, a group of depressed co-workers to protect…

A world to protect.

More people were going to suffer…

And Dakota had, personally, gotten sick of seeing sad people in the streets of his life.

"Only one person is going to feel like shit from now on… Thank goodness I'm used to it."

As the leaves crunched and rustled under his boots, Dakota removed his raincoat hoodie, allowing the storm to pour down and soak him.

For a moment, it felt so brisk.

It hurt.

It all hurt.

He cleared this throat, and the biggest guy turned, his smile nearly as dangerous as his substance.

"Yo! Check it out!", he called to his "esteemed associates", who all turned to address the new meat. "Got ourselves a customer!"

The big guy approached Dakota, and he put his hands on his shoulders, almost welcoming.

Dakota bit his tongue, resisting the urge to lunge and go crazy on him.

"…Nice place you got here. I see Ms. Jones' recommendation was legit.", Dakota commented, surveying the area, but no blaring lights.

Not yet.

The big guy nodded, chuckling. "She a good customer, she know the stuff."

He took Dakota with him to the center, under a lamp post that shined dark yellow and bright.

Like a spotlight…

"Or maybe something… Nicer.", he hoped.

Maybe…

Maybe this…

Maybe now…

He could finally make this world a better place.

He might not get to see the improvements, but…

Damn.

He'd take that in a second.

"So… Payment. We talkin'… How many pounds?"

Dakota readied his fists and his resolve as the big guy looked distracted, as his cronies fished for supplies, as his heart beat like a drum.

Taking a deep breath, thinking of the girl he was helping, Dakota let a little smile color his face.

His soul relaxed…

And he made his decision.

"Well, that depends…"

He looked up, ready and willing.

"How many poundings will it take to beat you guys down?"

The guys looked up, startled for a second. Just enough time to lay that first hook.

SMACK!

Sending the big guy wheeling to the side, but not out for the count, Dakota found fists coming at him, and naturally ducked, sending the cronies flying down at the lamp post.

You can guess what happened.

Dakota let out a tiny chuckle. "Lights out. Stupid, I know, but I had to."

"Yeah, I get you, brother. Sometimes you need to do what you need to DO!"

SLASH!

And just like that, Dakota had a knife slash his arm, nearly gashing it completely, and a new found hatred for untimely puns.

The big guy, however, was not merciful, and a kick to the stomach and another knife gash sent Dakota to the ground.

"What did we do, man? We're an honest establishment, and I can tell you're not an undercover cop."

The big guy kicked him in the chest again, as the two guys got up.

"What did we do?", he asked, as if he didn't know.

Dakota, spitting out blood, swiped at the big guys feet, sending him tumbling, before stumbling up and addressing the two cronies.

"You made an angel want to die. Must I say more?"

He didn't, but he also couldn't, as two hooks connected with his jaw, sending a jolt of pain through his body.

The metallic taste of blood graced his tongue as Dakota shook on his knees, the switchblades dangerously close now.

"People who mess with us… They don't get to joke again."

The big guy, who was finally up to his feet, lifted Dakota by the shirt, up close and personal.

Dakota could feel his hot breath on his face. It was not pleasant.

Silently, he offered a breath mint.

CRACK!

Predictably, Dakota met alleyway wall.

An ugly grin on his face, the big guy approached Dakota and enjoyed the sight of the former time traveller sitting out more blood onto the stone street.

Knuckles cracked above him, and Dakota tried to fight back with a punch, but his fist met the wall of steel that was the big guy's chest.

"Not so heroic now, are ya?"

Two more knife slashes, his shoulders screaming now as Dakota collapsed onto the sidewalk, his glasses lying scratched near him.

Shivering, Dakota gazed at the reflection staring back at him as the big guy prepared his knife.

"Did you really think you could stop us with just your fists?"

"…Well, that's what I did, so obviously yes…", Dakota breathed out as he continued to stare at his reflection.

The big guy laughed, and his cronies joined, as the lamppost lights made them even more imposing.

"You actually thought that someone like you could do anything important? You actually thought you could save someone?"

As Dakota's breath slowed down, his reflection continued staring back.

Bleeding. Heaving. Nearly dead.

Dakota had never felt more important.

More alive.

Sure, maybe he wouldn't survive…

But for once, Joni would do more than that.

And that was more than enough.

Determination swelling in his heart, Dakota got up to his feet slowly but surely, nearly buckling but sticking the landing anyway.

Turning towards them, he had a knowing smile.

A peaceful smile.

His mind was made.

"…Yeah. I did. And I will."

He motioned them to come closer.

"So come on! You chicken? Like a chicken? Living, mind you. The food ones can't exactly be afraid of anything, on account that they're sort of totally dead."

The big guy scowled.

"I will not miss your jokes."

The three dealers began to run at Dakota, and sure that they were too late for him, Dakota extended his arms in self sacrifice, comforted that at least the 3 criminals would be arrested.

"You got one more, chuckles?", the big guy asked, his knife nearly beheading Dakota.

Suddenly…

WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO!

Though it removed all meaning of his self sacrifice, Dakota was happy that the cavalry was finally here.

Grinning at the now startled big guy, Dakota let out one last joke: "Well, yeah, but you might not like the punchline."

While 6 heavily armed policemen wrestled the dealers to the ground, the chief, an elderly African American, approaches Dakota, an appreciative look on his face.

He grips Dakota's hand, Dakota barely being able to recognize the action, so beaten up he is.

"Mr. Dakota, I don't even know how to start thanking you!", The Chief showers praise, but Dakota motions him to stop, not willing to have any of it.

"Then don't. It's not why I did it."

The Chief nods, recounting an offscreen conversation.

"The process is already underway. We're already looking for potential families for her. And Ms. Jones will receive the treatment/punishment she deserves."

Dakota let a little smile decorate his cut lips. He finally helped someone.

Not that it would be enough.

It never was.

"I think what most impresses me is how you vocally delivered a slash."

As the dealers got thrown into the back of a police van, The Chief climbed inside, a congratulatory pat given to his best officer, Bret.

He then knelt down and looked at Dakota, who looked like he was about to fall down and go to sleep for a few millennia.

"Hospital's right next to the station. We could even get you a donut box. I know a guy."

Dakota politely declined. "Thanks… But I've gotta go somewhere else."

The Chief nodded, tipping his hat, and the van raced off, Dakota leaving in the opposite direction, barely feeling anything but his racing heart.

Joni was safe now.

…So how come did he still feel unfulfilled?

Half an hour later, he did feel something…

"OUCH!

Pain.

Not that that's new.

"That hurts!"

"Well, that's what happens when you go up against 3 drug dealers!", the voice holding the needle shouted, a concerned scolding the reason for her words.

Dimly lit, but not enough to hide all the posters of Tom Selleck and embroidered pillows with cutesy puns, the room in which Dakota was currently suffering in was spacious, but mostly because of the absence of someone.

Marjory shook her head, as she poured some more soda for her patient, her mustard yellow couch now ketchup stained with Dakota's blood. And actual ketchup.

Dakota got snacky when he was being stitched up.

"Vinnie, you're wonderful, really. But what the hell were you thinking?", Marjory chided, shaking her head in disbelief as she tore some more bandaging.

Dakota sighed as he felt another cut being covered up. Even though that was only the first cut Marjory was covering today.

"You're lucky that I was a trained nurse who just so happened to formerly live next to you. Like, this is the kind of luck that gets whined about by sweaty 30 something year olds in their basements on clickbait movie list sites!"

Dakota, still vividly remembering the reason for his beating, and the reason for his loneliness, began to huff and puff. "Yes, Marjory, I know that I'm lucky!"

Marjory crossed her arms, her mouth already chewing another lozenge to sooth her throat. "You know, sassing someone with scissors is only your second dumbest idea today."

Dakota, to his surprise, was actually getting angry.

"Ok, are you going to do like a steryotypical mom and spend all night guilt tripping me?"

"If I must! Dakota, I don't think you truly understand what you did tonight!", Marjory complained, covering up the second and third cuts.

"Owch!", Dakota yipped out, small tears of pain crawling down uncontrollably.

"Sorry.", Marjory apologized genuinely, wiping some of the sweat off of his brow.

For a few minutes, silence reigned, and no one dared speak a word.

But Dakota's mind continued to force him to see it all: All of his life flashed past, and as ever, it felt so… So…

He had to make her see.

Right now… She was the only one.

He wasn't there anymore.

…He would never return.

And it was just more proof that it was just so… So…

"Marjory…", Dakota barely breathed out, seeing it turn into cold wind in the air, floating away… Pointlessly.

He shifted himself on the couch a little, facing the tireless sextegenarian.

For a moment, he was almost guilt stricken, but he had to show her, he HAD to!

"Look, I know that I got lucky, but…"

"But what?!", Marjory shot back, perhaps a little too loudly.

"Ok, just stop!", Dakota shouted out, losing it.

Why did no one see?!

Standing up, despite his injuries, Dakota began to tirade.

"Yes, I got lucky, I know that! You think I don't? You think I don't know how lucky I am to be alive? How lucky I am to have met Cavendish? How lucky I was to even pass the fucking academy? I lucked out when I met Milo and his friends, I lucked out when I "saved" Brick, Savannah and Gretchen, I lucked out 45 years ago when I was born and my family mercifully chose to not kill me but just abandon me! I know that I'm lucky to be alive…. The problem is that I don't know why I am!"

Calming down, Dakota's vision began to blur.

He began to lose his balance, his eyes closing.

"I… I don't know…"

Tears falling at the same time as him, Dakota was lucky not to smash onto the floor, thanks to Marjory's fast hands.

"Vinnie, please… Lie down."

Back on the couch, Dakota could barely articulate, but as he looked at Marjory, guilt flooded him once more.

Looking down, almost like a boy in trouble, Dakota tearfully apologized. "I'm… I'm sorry. I'm such a jerk. Here you are, up at 4 AM making sure I don't bleed to death and all I can do is get angry at you for my lack of purpose."

Marjory wasn't upset though. On the contrary, she let out a chuckle, followed by a coughing fit.

"Vinnie, darling, I would have been up regardless. At least I get to help you instead of helping myself to more cold lasagna leftovers!".

She smiled warmly, but Dakota still wept, years of keeping it in under a smile suddenly breaking down.

Marjory saw this and caressed his cheek, removing a tear.

"Oh, baby… What's wrong? Why are you saying all these things?"

Dakota could barely face her. "It's just… All my life, I've been trying to justify it."

"Justify what?"

"…Me."

Silence reigned again, only broken by the occasional sob from Dakota.

"The only thing that has ever made me feel alive… Made me happy… Was making other people happy. But every time I do it, it doesn't work."

"That's not true. What about that Gretchen girl you told me about a few days ago?"

Dakota shook his head, resigned to his fate. "Knowing my life… She's probably all depressed again. And there's nothing I can do."

He buried his head in his hands. "I failed Brick, Savannah, Caven… Caven…"

"Don't say it; I know."

Sniffling, Dakota nodded thankful. "Him… …And… And I know, just know that if something was to happen to Milo… Or Melissa, or Zack, or Sara or Amanda… Then I'd just fail again."

He collapsed back onto the sofa, his neck tense and rigid. "The whole Gretchen thing made me hopeful again, but then the date happened. That doesn't mean nothing. If I can't help the man I love most, how can I help anyone?"

"Well, didn't tonight help that Joni girl?"

Dakota chuckled darkly. "I doubt it will. Her problems won't go away just like that. And besides… It's not enough."

Marjory shook her head. "What are you talking about? What is enough?"

Dakota stammered. "I… I… I don't know."

"Yes. You. Do."

"No. I. Don't!"

Marjory ran her hand through his hair, momentarily calming him down. "Yes… You… Do…"

Dakota shook with anger and disappointment, hot tears streaming down. "It will never be enough, ok? I'm not good enough, I've never been!"

Marjory suddenly hugged him, hard and long, making Dakota cry even more, as he felt something he had never felt before: The love of a mother.

"Vinnie… You are a good man. No… You are a wonderful man."

She shushed him as she cried as well. "Never in my life have I met someone so selfless."

Dakota sobbed silently. "I'd… I'd die now… If it made Cav happy…"

"I know… I know dear…"

She separated for a moment, and with a tilt of her head, gestured towards a picture on her side cabinet. "…But trust me: Dying won't fix it. When someone is gone, they're gone."

Dakota knew. He didn't need to address it. "…I'm sorry about Vern."

"Vern's time was up."

She kissed Dakota on the forehead. "Yours isn't."

The scene slowly melted, as Marjory's final words echoed in Dakota's mind as the shower water returned.

"…Your happiness is important too. Don't give up on Cavendish… But don't give up on yourself. You'd be surprised to find out just how many people love you."

Back in the shower, Dakota sighed, hurting his ribs in the process.

He slowly stood up, blood still dripping down from his cuts.

Only now did he realize that he was still wearing his glasses.

Or were things always this unclear?

"…People… Love me?"

He knew it was true, in a sense, but it was also so unreal.

After all, what had he actually done?

Milo and the kids barely knew him, and it was mostly just because he had saved them a few times from pistachio monsters HE helped create (accidentally but still).

Brick and Savannah were complicated, and it seemed like they were too confused about themselves to even be able to approach any other relationship, let alone a friendship with him.

Gretchen sort of idolized him (somehow), so that didn't count.

Cavend…

The shower curtain ripped off.

He wasn't going to say it.

…Was there really anyone who loved him?

Did all those people he kept failing really want him in their lives?

Looking in the mirror, Dakota saw himself.

Standing naked in the bathroom, with his scars out for all to see, with nowhere to hide or run, Dakota felt so utterly alone.

His hands trembled as they leaned down on the sink, and he squinted at himself, his skin beginning to wrinkle from the shower.

His hair was somehow still greasy and now all over the place.

His eyes were almost bloodshot, and tear filled, weary and tired of… He didn't even know anymore.

His nose was apparently broken (he hadn't even noticed that).

His fingers shook every few moments and his cuts still made their presence known.

His legs felt like jelly, he was sure he was going to buckle any minute.

But then he'd get hurt.

…Not that that was a bad thing, but still.

"Gotta… Gotta look on the bright side…", Dakota told himself, though it was less sure than usual. "Gotta… Can't let them down."

They needed the fun loving Dadkota who was always there. The one who never hurt and never felt sad. The one who loved them so very much.

"…Just… Laugh it off…"

He had to. He had to be the clown.

He had to be there for them.

Turning around, with an exaggerated smile, Dakota saw it: The audience.

They laughed and clapped as he entered, his scars and cuts now covered up with his regular costume, and strikingly white clown makeup.

Grabbing a microphone, Dakota walked down the bathroom, that had turned into a stage.

"You're probably wondering about my cuts. Shouldn't you go to hospital, Dakota? But, well, hospital food is terrible, you know? If I'm gonna get hurt, it's going to be next to a deli!", he started, a fake smile on his face.

Shrieks of laughter rang out, and Dakota took it all in stride.

He had to.

He had to be the joke, or else they would see.

As the laughter died out, Dakota began to excitedly walk around again.

"Hey, hey, now: Let's not knock our doctors too much! They take good care… Of their salaries!"

More laughter as Dakota straightened his tie, but as he removed his hand, he saw that it was splattered with blood.

Laughing nervously, he wiped it on his chest, the bright red now beginning to spread like a spurting ink pen.

"Ok, so… You're probably wondering HOW I got said cuts? Well, you see…"

But Dakota couldn't start the joke.

Suddenly, a loud buzzing echoed in his ears, and he struggled to keep up the illusion.

The audience laugh was slowly in the background, and all Dakota could see was the slashing of knives on his body.

"Well… It's a funny story…"

But it was getting progressively less funny as he began to cough blood again.

The audience continued to laugh, though, oddly oblivious to the things right in front of them.

"Well… Um… It's… It's really funny!"

Dakota now saw his friends and family look up to him. Begging for him to help them. They needed him. They needed him to protect them. To love them. Like… Like…

"It's… Woah, I'm actually bleeding, it's so funny!"

Dakota whole shirt was red and his eyes were overflowing with tears.

On his knees, Dakota was suddenly given a small misshapen thing.

The woman above him nodded, and Dakota heard her run off in the rain, her footsteps echoing in the halls of his mind.

Looking down, Dakota spotted a bundle of blankets, squirming and crying.

As he looked down, he saw something unexpected…

Himself.

Sobbing uncontrollably, Dakota embraced the bundle, saying...

"It's funny… Because it's…"

The audience continued to laugh hard, drowning out his sobs.

Dakota could barely articulate, but what he said was:

"Because it's me…"

The audience disappeared, and Dakota was back.

A mess.

Chaos.

The clown face was off.

Looking back in the mirror, Dakota felt…

"…Come on… Keep it together Vinnie…"

He tried. He tried so hard.

Just roll with the punches. Just make the joke. Just be the joke. Maybe it will raise a smile on their faces. Maybe it will encourage them.

Maybe it will show them it's not so bad.

But inside…

Inside you're hurting.

Dakota bowed his head, not even trying to hide it anymore.

The fake smile finally dropped and the real face was shown.

"The joke is on me…"

"How could I ever think that… That I could do anything but fail?"

Dakota sobbed and sobbed, the tears running down into his mouth.

"…I want to live… But… But what if I just… Get in the way?"

Marjory said that people love him.

And Dakota, even though he didn't get it, knew that people did love him and care for him.

But… He had to keep the mask!

Milo, Melissa, Zack, Sara, Amanda, Brick, Savannah, Gretchen, Joni…

They all needed someone to smile and laugh and cheer them up and believe in them.

Even if he didn't believe in himself for a second.

Even if that razor seemed real tempting…

And that rest seemed so…

Good.

But he couldn't rest.

He could never rest.

"I've failed helping my loved ones so many times… But if I give up, I'm no better than my parents. I… Someone needs to love them. They must have what I didn't."

Dakota wiped the tears away, and puffed his chest.

"They need Vinnie Dakota… No matter what."

But…

Sighing, Dakota looked in the mirror.

A fact he had tried so hard to avoid the last few days, to the extent of forbidding his name being spoken, was finally rising up from the depths of his soul.

"But I can't do it right… If I keep sulking. Cavendish…"

He wanted to.

He wished he could.

He would have given everything for it, everything for another chance at happiness, for him AND for Cavendish.

He…

He HAD given everything.

And…

And it was time to face the ugly truth staring back at him in the mirror.

It was time to remove the blurry glasses and face the facts head on, with no fear.

It was time to be real and grow up.

It was time to stop joking around…

And be the man his family needs.

With a face full of guilt, scorn and self loathing, Dakota said the thing he hated most of all:

"I can't save him. He's too far gone. Besides…"

He said it happily, but the tears continued to shed.

"My happiness isn't as important as theirs."

Still, Dakota's mind kept shouting and shouting for love.

To help Cavendish.

To love him.

To save him from himself and give him the life Dakota had sacrificed so much for.

But Dakota was tired.

Tired of failing others and tired of loving those who didn't return it.

Breathing hard, Dakota slammed the sink.

"GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD, VINNIE!"

He shook violently.

"He doesn't love you! And that's final! You can't force him to change!"

In a silent voice, he added:

"No matter how much you want to."

Dakota then adopted a cold air about him, trying his best to distance himself from the emotional mess he was so involved in.

He had to make it small, otherwise he'd be destroyed.

Looking starkly at himself for the first time in years, Dakota layed out the truth:

"And he doesn't want it, anyway."

Wiping the tears off, Dakota clenched his fists and took deep, cleansing breaths.

It almost felt good, it almost felt liberating to free himself of Cavendish, and vice versa.

He'd be able to focus on the other people in his life and not guilt over it!

A small voice still argued against it all, against abandoning the man Dakota loved so much.

But Dakota refused.

He had to do this.

He had to.

"Face the facts, Dakota: If you want to justify yourself… You must give up on Cavendish."

The soft, almost solemn piano chords of "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" started as Dakota took deep and slow breaths, trying to kill his feelings for the sake of his family:

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_When Are You Gonna Come Down?_

_When Are You Going To Land?_

Dakota stared directly into the mirror, singing not only to Cavendish…

But to himself.

As he sang, he remembered one of his worst memories, and a shiver ran down his spine as he realized that even a selfish monster like his Father could be right about one thing.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_I Should Have Stayed On The Farm,_

_I Should Have Listened To My Old Man…_

The tears still streamed down as Dakota shaved the remnents of his beard, looking like himself again.

His hand shook as he put it down, but despite the strong urge that was always there, it didn't return covered in blood.

Taking another deep breath, he saw Cavendish in the mirror, smiling that smile that melted Dakota's heart.

It was calling for him, beckoning.

Promising a better tomorrow.

Dakota reached out his hand to the outstretched offer.

It felt so…

Right…

But this time, he would not fall for the illusion.

This time…

He would be free.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_You Know You Can't Hold Me Forever…_

_I Didn't Sign Up With You…_

The tears continued, but Dakota gripped the sink and gritted his teeth, hell bent on letting go.

All the times of neglect, of insults and putdowns, all the years of lack of gratitude, all the wasted time waiting for love…

With one swift and decisive motion, he wiped the tears away…

And bid farewell to Balthazar Cavendish.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_I'm Not A Present For Your Friends To Open…_

_This Boy's Too Young To Be Singing… The BLUEEEEEEEEEESSS!_

As the chorus sang out the first verse, Dakota turned his back on the vision of Cavendish, and walked out in his robe to his bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the floor.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_So Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_

_Where the Dogs of Society Howl_

_You Can't Plant Me In Your Penthouse_

_I'm Going Back To My Plough_

_Back To The Howling Old Owl In The Woods_

_Hunting The Horny Back Toad_

_Oh I've Finally Decided My Future Lies_

_Beyond The Yellow Brick Road!_

In the room, Dakota found his regular clothes…

But he was a new man.

A new Dakota.

Perhaps a physical statement would help really get the message across.

Throwing away his old clothes, Dakota adopted a new wear from the clothes lying around in the Murphy household (as odd as that sounds, the Murphy's were pretty ok with lending each other clothes, since they all really wore one outfit anyway, so it didn't really matter who took what).

A few minutes later, Dakota came out to the second verse, decked out in the "Snack Daddy" hat Sara made him, a hot pink shaded blouse Brigette didn't wear anymore, a pair of Martin's green Khaki's that thankfully didn't shrink too much in the wash, and a pair of loafers just like Milo.

"Balthy would NEVER have approved of this.", Dakota thought, in a mixture of remorse… But also excitement.

It was thrilling…

Being himself.

And as he walked down to the living room, he sang out, almost triumphant, as he left Cavendish spiritually:

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_What Do You Think You'll Do Then?_

_Bet That'll Shoot Down Your Plane!_

Dakota walked down with a smile, reaching the Murphy Living Room, darkly lit, but still with a glimmer of light.

A glimmer of hope.

Getting a little excited with his brave new world, Dakota took hold of a broom and began waltzing with it, directing all his words to Cavendish.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_It'll Take You A Couple of Vodka and Tonics_

_To Set You On Your Feet Again!_

Now adopting a more melancholy tone, Dakota caressed the broom, sadness in his eyes as he reminisced over the man he had loved so much.

The man he would have given everything to.

The man who broke his heart in a million pieces…

And the man he was willing to let do that again and again and again…

But no more.

Not again.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_Maybe You'll Get A Replacement…_

_There's Plenty Like Me To Be Found…_

Real anger and resentment popped out as Dakota thought of all the bad times…

And he let it out, with no restraint.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_Mongrels, who ain't got a penny…_

_Sniffing for tidbits like __you__ on the grooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuund!_

And the chorus sang once again as Dakota threw the broom away and leapt onto the sofa, arms outstretched, eyes closed, heart swelling in his chest.

He was Vinnie Dakota…

And he was free to exist.

**Vinnie Dakota:**

_So Goodbye Yellow Brick Road_

_Where The Dogs of Society Howl_

_You Can't Plant Me In Your Penthouse_

_I'm Going Back To My Plough_

_Back To the Howling Old Owl In The Woods_

_Hunting The Horny Back Toad_

_Oh I've Finally Decided My Future Lies_

_Beyond The Yellow Brick Road!_

The chorus finished and Dakota collapsed onto the sofa, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

Feeling the cushions slowly envelope and caress his hands, letting his neck relax for the first time in years and feeling free enough to put his feet on the coffee table was only second most to the people who suddenly entered the room, back from another Murphy's Law filled day at school.

"Hey, Dadkota!", Milo, Melissa, Zack, Sara and Amanda all greeted, in varying levels on enthusiasm, from Sara's high pitched yell to Milo's surprisingly not as energetic as you'd expect call to Amanda's shy and reserved wave.

Beaming like the proudest parent ever (which was very accurate), Dakota leapt to his feet and ran over to squeeze his favorite kids, smushing them with his unconditional love.

His favorite kind, despite never having it.

"Dadkota… You're… Kind of hugging too hard…", Zack observed between gaps of breath, but Dakota, eyes shut tight, shook his head.

"Nope… Not enough at all."

Despite everything he had gone through, despite the events of the last few days, Dakota had made sure that these kids, who loved him for some reason, would receive what they deserved no matter what his mood was.

It was a stark difference to Cavendish, who didn't like showing his affection (though deep down, even he didn't know how much he loved them all), and the kids definitely noticed it.

They didn't like playing favorites of course, but after the disastrous date, the preference of Dadkota was a little more apparent.

Finally setting themselves free from the almost smothering love, the kids all surrounded Dakota with questions, which this time he was a little happier to answer.

"How are you today?", Milo asked, clear worry and concern in his tone. The usually optimistic boy was feeling worse lately, thanks to the recent slew of events nearly leading him to lose his friends, so seemingly losing Cavendish had hit hard.

Knowing that he had nearly lost Dakota as well was almost too much to bare.

Dakota responded with an affectionate ruffle of Milo's hair, causing the jinx to laugh cheerfully.

"Well, you're all here. How bad can I be?"

Melissa, who was already on the phone for reasons Dakota didn't know, balanced that and a notepad as she shot her quarry.

"Did you get any sleep? You've been oddly silent, what with the snores not tearing holes in the Murphy's heads, apparently."

Dakota rolled his eyes and snarkily whispered "I don't know, did you confess to Milo?"

Melissa responded with a loving elbow, and Dakota chuckled as she then added seriously "You didn't sneak off, right?"

Dakota had to lie of course, since Melissa could probably kill him if she wanted to. So he answered with a question. "Did you ace that chemistry test you were so worried about?"

Her response came in the form of the circle game, and as she looked at him through her fingers she said "Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer."

The snarky conversation was finished with a warm "I knew you would."

The genuine smile on her face said it all.

While Melissa resumed her increasingly heated conversation with the mysterious recipient of her call, Dakota sat back down to find Sara holding a warm cup of espresso and Zack holding a breath mint.

Dakota thanked them with his eyes and proud smile and as he took a sip, he asked about their day.

"How were rehearsals?"

"Oh, fantastic! I'm really getting the gist of my costume designs for this one! I mean, I personally think "Scott Pilgrim Vs The World" could use more robots and raging homosexuals, but I guess I'm alone in that respect."

Dakota wheezed with laughter as he took the mint and looked at Zack.

"That bad?"

"Dude, when did you last sleep?", Zack asked, sassy look on his face.

"I don't know, about as long since you started biting your nails.", he pointed out, before holding his hand. "What's up?"

Zack knew that Dakota's concern was not a joke.

But…

He wasn't brave enough.

Not yet.

Not in front of all these people.

"…Nothing."

Dakota sighed and shot him finger guns. "When nothing becomes too hard to ignore, my office is open. Payment is two breakfast burritos and some extra self esteem from you, got it?"

Zack nodded, smiling brightly, as Amanda marched past Dakota with a first aid kit.

"Ok, ok, give him some space, Personas! This man needs medical attention, stat!"

Dakota lifted his hands, as if he had just been caught by the police. Considering who was now lifting his shirt, he wasn't that wrong.

"Who leaked me out?", he asked with a sheepish smile.

"Last I checked, that shirt was pink, not red."

Amanda was… Different to the others.

She always was, but the last few months, something had happened.

Dakota was pretty sure he knew, but so far, every time he tried…

"So… Are you gonna tell…"

"Hell no."

See?

Dakota sighed as Amanda rubbed some gauze, only to notice some dangling bandages.

Feigning shock, she reprimanded him with a grin. "I thought I was the only one who got to point out your stupidity."

"It's a free country. Isn't the 28th amendment "You have the right to give Dakota free medical care if he arrives at your house"?"

Amanda tutted, but in a loving way. "Not a single word of that sentence was right."

"What about this sentence: Something is wrong with you and you don't need to feel embarrassed next to me?"

Amanda gulped as Dakota added, arms outstretched. "I do more than my share of embarrassing myself! You don't need to worry about that."

Amanda turned her head away, and the beginning of a tear formed on her eye lids.

Dakota, eyes wide and all too serious, karate chopped it away.

"Come to me IF you want to, 'kay?"

Amanda couldn't help but smile softly as she applied another bandage. "If I ever do, you can bet it will be with you."

Dakota took a moment to close his eyes and smile.

Sure, life had been hard recently, but the kids had really been great to him, and feeling such love was just…

Electryfing.

Speaking of things getting electrocuted…

"Where's Martin, by the by? And Brigette? Don't tell me they're removing another truck from his armpit!"

Melissa answered by throwing a coat at Dakota's face.

"Don't get a cold on the way, and you'll see them finishing all your egg rolls."

Dakota, removing the coat and playfully throwing it back, joked "I thought it was my job to nag you all."

Milo and Zack, getting their coats on, grinned. "No, it's your job to let us help you get back on your feet."

Dakota smiled, albeit sadly now, as he leaned on the wall, making circles on the window pane that was cold as ice, yet somehow also warm. "I'd say that today has been better than ever."

"Then let's make sure it stays like that. Going out will get you back to normal and off of thinking about…"

Melissa didn't finish, and no one dared continue.

Dakota nodded, agreeing. "You don't have to tell me twice. Egg Rolls, my kids, and therapeutic get togethers are three of my seven favorite winter activites."

Sara cheered as she kicked the door open, which of course made it fall off its hinges. "Then let's get this party started!"

Dakota laughed heartily, and the family chanted egg rolls as they entered the car, Dakota taking one last look at the sky.

"...45 years… I guess it was worth it…"


	9. Therapy In My Burrito

"So… Let me get this straight…"

Taking a big bite out of her breakfast burrito, the voice with an Ohio accent and a spring in its step continued the cross examination.

"You woke up today feeling worse than ever…"

"Somehow, I know!"

"Uh huh. Then you dozed off in front of this restaurant after seeing weird background characters…", the fork pointing at his face was covered in crumbs, and an odd want to wash it fled away as soon as it came.

"Yes… As weird as that sounds."

A ceiling fan kept spinning on and on, not really affecting anything, but spinning all the same.

"And if we're talking weird, you then had a dream of sorts where said background characters sang "Windmills of Your Mind" while making you realize that you mistreated Mr. Dakota and those kids who came a few days ago, but what you don't understand is why you did all this."

"Precisely!"

A silence followed as the two ate, until Denise, the main employee at "The Breakfast Burrito Place", finally broke it: "That is whack, Balthy. That is freaky."

Cavendish sighed, frustrated. "I agreed to you analyzing me because I am desperate, but PLEASE don't call me Balthy."

Only two people were allowed to say that…

And he had driven them both away…

Denise nodded as she swallowed a bite of her burrito and stood up, circling the tiny Janitor's closet.

"All right, but surely we can find a larger place than this! I can barely hear myself think!"

"Likewise.", Cavendish thought dryly. He may have been more willing to ask for help, but that Cavendish frustration was definitely not gone yet.

"Ooh! Maybe we could take it to the comfy seats! Lots of air AND lots of atmosphere! How do you like your Youtube Mixes? Incredibly specific or 2010's oooh baby?", Denise asked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastic for someone tasked with analyzing the trainwreck that was Balthazar Cavendish.

Cavendish shook his head, crumbs flying off his moustache and onto the Kowala grey carpeted floor. "Baby steps, Denise! I've managed to tell myself that I'm doing something wrong for the first time in forever, but I don't think I'm ready for a public cross analysis!"

Cavendish's eyes darted suspiciously from side to side. "Besides, it's "Kiddie Time" and I will NOT talk to Bernardo the Burrito Addict Beaver! He's a real gossip!"

Denise laughed, and Cavendish noticed for the first time the dimples on her cheeks that bounced with every chortle.

A beautiful detail, hidden in the cracks, lost now forever to time.

How many of those had he missed?

A mangled napkin sailed past his hat, and Cavendish decided to redirect the conversation.

"So, refocusing our talk, I need to know why I've stooped so low. I…"

He swallowed his spit. This was hard, but not just because of his pride. He…

He was supposed to have been better than this.

…He should have been better than this.

But he wasn't.

And they all had paid for that.

Because of him.

"…I just… I just want to know why I'm not the hero I wanted to be…"

Cavendish suddenly stopped and uttered a sentence he didn't expect at all: "Are those animal puppets for 3-6 year olds that are sold at any local toy store?"

"…Maybe…", Denise said, as she finished equipping her hands with animal puppets for 3-6 year olds that are sold at an local toy store.

"I was expecting this to be a lot more serious.", Cavendish said, his moustache twitching in disapproval.

"So were the readers.", Denise shattered the fourth wall.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

Cavendish sighed. "Very well, if it means I can make it up to Dakota and the kids, I will do whatever I must do. And that is?"

Denise offered two puppets, a cow and a horse.

"Ridiculous! Preposterous! Absolutely illogical!"

Silence.

"…I want the cow."

Once she handed the bovine over, Denise took out a few flash cards and spread them on her lap, which was difficult due to the puppets she had on her hands. After dropping them a few times, she finally managed to get started. "Now, I prepared a little script for us while you spent the first few minutes on the fetal position, so why don't we…"

"The cow goes 'Moo!' 'Moo!', I say!"

Denise cleared he throat. "Mr. Cavendish?"

Cavendish looked up, curious as to why she called. "Yes?"

Denise pointed at the flash cards. "I believe you wanted me to explain to you why you act like a douchbag."

"True, but wouldn't it be easier to forget it all?", Cavendish asked hopefully, some of that pride and fear still present.

Denise raised a humorous eyebrow and Cavendish sighed wearily. "I'm sorry… It's just…"

"You're afraid… It's only natural.", Denise said with a comforting smile.

Cavendish, however, was not smiling.

"…I'm not supposed to be afraid. I'm…"

Cavendish felt it.

The pain.

The disappointment.

The failure.

"…I'm supposed to be better than this."

"Why?", Denise asked, talking with her dog puppet. "Why, Mr. Cavendish?"

Cavendish, with little amusement, took notice of the doggo.

"I must say, this is extremely distracting."

"Aww, don't be like that! Here, how about a kiss from Mr. Horse?"

Cavendish cringed. Mr. Horse and his flowing sexy locks reminded him of someone…

"I'd rather not…"

"Why?", the doggo asked, curling up to his chin.

"Because… Because!", Cavendish angrily answered, turning his back and frowning.

He then regretted this. "Great… Now I'm acting like a dick to the animal puppets. Does my cruelty know no end?", he wailed dramatically, shaking his fists in the air at god…

Or himself…

Denise laughed and took off the puppets. "No need to be SO dramatic, Mr. Cavendish! I'm sure we can find a way to get you to open up!"

She took out some ink blotched papers. "How about some ink blot drawings?"

"Pass. That stuff is hooey and won't possibly reveal anything true about me!", Cavendish complained, and Denise out down the blot that clearly said "Bi angst, child abuse, forgiveness issues and toxic masculinity".

Denise shrugged and took out a joke book. "Perhaps a few jokes will open you up? How's this: "There once was a man from Peru, who fell asleep in a canoe. He dreamt of Venus and played with his…"

Cavendish took the book and burned it with a flamethrower. "I think our rating is adult enough without that, don't you think?", he gasped, anxious.

Denise sighed. "All I've got left is Art Therapy, but I really doubt that will work."

"Well, who knows? It's worth a shot!", Cavendish proposed willingly. He really DID want to solve things.

Denise, shrugging, took out a giant painting of two men kissing while an older gentleman looks along disapprovingly and a crowd boos.

Cavendish scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"I feel guilt, resentment, fear, pain, desire, disappointment, wishes of glory and an aversion to relationships of any kind."

He shook his head sadly. "I've got nothing."

Denise threw the painting away and sighed. "I guess we won't find out…"

But Denise was no easy quitter, and she mentally kicked herself. "Seriously? Is this who you are? Mr. Cavendish, Mr. Dakota, their kids, the city… Everyone is counting on you! Just for once, give something back!"

Taking Cavendish's hands, Denise smiled her intoxicating smile as she gazed at him with hopeful eyes.

"Mr. Cavendish, I am NOT giving up on you! We will find a way for you to open yourself!"

"How?", Cavendish asked, in despair. It seemed that even when he was trying to do the right thing, it all went wrong.

Denise spun her chair and sat with the back to her, inquisitive eyes. "We'll find out by answering the really important questions! Why are you doing all this? Why did you sink so low? Why are you such a dirtbag?"

Cavendish groaned. "The jokes aren't helping!"

Denise shook her head, laughing. "They won't if you don't lighten up!"

Cavendish scoffed, failing to believe this woman. He had to be taken absolutely seriously so that he could stop taking himself so seriously! "Lighten up! Ridiculous! I'm angsting!"

Denise booped his nose, annoying him. "Boo hoo. Should I call "My Chemical Romance"?"

Cavendish jumped up and down excitedly. "You can do that?"

Denise blinked in surprise and Cavendish sheepishly sat down. "Before Dakota, they were the only ones who understood me."

"Spouting out clichés?", Denise asked, in fake disapproval.

Cavendish sighed wearily, his sadness returning. "Better than spouting out terrible insults."

Denise's expression softened and she patted his back. "Look… I want to help. I really do! But I'm going to need more details from you."

She looked down, in an understanding way. Her smile replaced with an all too knowing look. "Hard as it is… I'm going to need you to look into your past."

Cavendish nodded, but…

He wasn't sure if he could.

It wasn't that he didn't want to solve all this: He was thankfully past that.

But knowing he had to do it didn't make it any easier.

Remember: He had spent 35 years of his life on a self made pedestal. Stepping down was harder than it sounded.

Plus, Cavendish was still unsure if he deserved being understood.

Maybe he deserved nothing more than to lie down on his apartment floor and count the seconds pass and pass and pass and pass…

Eyes darting up to the ceiling fan, Cavendish suddenly realized how sweaty he was getting.

Eyes observing his palms, Cavendish suddenly realized how wrong he was. How different he was.

Eyes focused at Denise, Cavendish suddenly realized how much he hated himself.

"….I… I don't know if I can."

He tried to hide the tears. He couldn't… He couldn't show weakness. He had to be the good boy! He had to!

"I… I don't know if I should."

"Mr. Cavendish…", Denise started, reaching a hand out.

Cavendish recoiled at first, and he still felt odd as he felt a touch that wasn't violent. "I don't think you are terrible. I don't think that you've lost your second chance. You'd need to give yourself a second chance first, and you haven't."

Could he?

She smiled encouragingly. "I believe that deep down, beneath that prickly and pompous exterior, there is a good, kind, gentle man, one who loves and cares for his friends and family."

She schlepped out her phone and scrolled down some pics. "Sure, you've been grouchy, but look at these!"

Sticking out from her phone were picture after picture of Cavendish, pictures that felt both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Cavendish's eyes darted quickly as they captured pictures of laughter, of happiness, of love.

There he was, high fiving Melissa.

There he was, patting Milo's head.

There he was, kissing…

Cavendish's moustache twitched in disbelief, but his eyes told a different story: That deep down, Cavendish wanted to believe that.

Believe that he could forgive himself.

Believe that he was capable of love.

Believe that… He wasn't the bad guy.

"You're better than you think you are!", Denise stated, as she withdrew the phone and smiled brightly, her teeth sparkling.

Denise then frowned, melancholy painting her face and the scene grey. "But I can't help you if you refuse to help yourself."

Cavendish's clammy hands clasped together despite the stickiness and he tried to start the conversation, his need to make it up to Dakota stronger than his fears…

For now…

"My past?"

Could he talk about it?

It was just…

"Well…"

A voice resounded in his ears. "You mustn't show weakness, boy! You must persevere! You are a man… And men do NOT ask for help!"

It was so powerful…

It all felt wrong…

"No… I must tell you…", Cavendish choked out, his fists clenching and his eyes shut as he shivered.

Denise was confused and she raised a concerned pair of eyebrows. "Mr. Cavendish? Are you ok?"

Cavendish struggled and gritted his teeth, losing the battle. "I… I can't! I… I've said too much! I… I must be a good boy! A good man!"

Denise was now getting a little scared. "Should I… Call someone? Like a doctor?"

Cavendish stood up, his plate still in his hand.

"I… I CAN'T! I… I have to go!"

Cavendish started to leave, the voice getting louder and more disapproving.

The belt buckle lashed and the fist collided and Oliver left and Dakota left and he was the reason he wasn't good enough, as a man or as a pansy he was not good enough he was not good enough he was not…

Denise jumped out of her seat and put her hand on his shoulder, visibly concerned and sympathetic. "Balthy, please let me help you!"

But that was too much. Cavendish snapped and threw his plate on the floor. "I AM NOT BALTHY! BALTHY IS DEAD!"

The plate shattered and the shards of glass sailed all over the place, one particularly sharp piece approaching Cavendish's pupil.

As it flew towards him in slow motion, Cavendish could see himself: Enraged, violent, mean.

He was doing it again.

He was failing them all again.

And for the briefest moment, for a fiery, instant second, he wanted that shard to enter his eye and free him from himself.

But Denise wasn't that merciful.

"GOT YA!"

Panting hard, Denise caught the shard without cutting herself for a second, and Cavendish bit back the urge to die and instead focused on regretting his existence once more.

"I'm… I'm so sorry, that was… That was terrible of me!", he apologized, truthfully, genuinely.

He slumped his head down, feeling a million daggers stab his back, hurting him like he could only wish he could.

He just couldn't stop, could he?

But to Cavendish's surprise, Denise was not angry.

In fact, she was downright sympathetic.

"Don't worry, B… Mr. Cavendish. I know it was just a moment of weakness."

She laughed as she collected the other shards, Cavendish soon joining when he realized he was being rude. "Why, if I had a nickel for every time I…"

Denise then stopped herself, and before Cavendish could inquire further, she changed the subject. "Ahem, well, what I want to know is why you can't tell me about your past?"

She quickly defended herself, waving her hands around. "Not that I don't understand, I just want to know the exact reason!"

Cavendish sighed, as he dropped the shards into a nearby wastebasket filled with grease stained napkins and a few broken plastic forks.

"It's… It's complicated. I… I… I just… I'm not…"

He let out a cry of frustration as his words turned into cement once more, burring his face in his hands, letting out a whimper of exhaustion. "I sound insane! Why can't I do one simple thing for them?!"

Denise smiled softly, suppressing a chuckles. He wouldn't take too kindly to that!

"We all sound insane, Mr. Cavendish. I guess that's why we can empathize with each other: In a way, we're all similar. We're all imperfect."

"He isn't.", Cavendish interjected, and he sat straight up, eyes burning, tears almost flooding. "Dakota has always been the gentlest and kindest man I've met. He risks his life daily for complete strangers, he's saved the universe from a multitude of monsters and he broke every rule in the book to make sure that I can be here now, lamenting my mistreatment of him."

Cavendish growled at himself, wanting to tear his hair out. "How could I have done it? How could I have treated him like that?"

Sighing, Cavendish leaned back on his chair.

The ceiling fan kept spinning.

And spinning.

And spinning.

Cavendish clicked his tongue, as the sounds of silverware clatter and fried beans and scrumptious munching drowned out.

Even the pen scratches on Denise's notebook disappeared.

All Cavendish could hear was his slow, eerily quiet heartbeat, and the spinning rims of the fan.

"…Look at those rims…", he muttered, just loudly enough for Denise to notice.

Cavendish's breathing turned slow and calm as he monologued. "Spinning… Ever spinning…"

His voice was almost hoarse, the quiet almost unsettling.

Cavendish usually liked to assert his points, but now he was just…

Talking.

Sharing his pain.

And Denise would not miss a single second of it!

"It's been here… How many years? 5? 1O? 15?"

A shiver and the pause ends.

"It's old. Creaky. Tired. It's probably stopped functioning a long time ago. Dust covers its edges, cobwebs hang from its bottom and every so often it makes this terrible buzzing noise that sends your ears into kingdom come."

He almost smiled at the fan, but it was a smile of sadness. Of envy.

"But look at it: Not once has it slacked or betrayed its function. It has stuck here regardless. It suffered, and suffered and suffered over and over again…"

He sighed.

"And despite the pain, despite the seemingly insurmountable challenge, it has done what it had to do."

A tear build up, but Cavendish wiped it.

He would not be weak.

Clearing his throat, he looked at Denise with regret and guilt all over his face.

"Why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I just do the easiest thing in the world… And love Vinnie Dakota? And my kids?"

Sitting in his chair, Cavendish felt alien once more.

He had been gifted with people who loved and cherished him.

All he had to do was return the affection and all would be ok.

Why had it been so hard? Why had it been so daunting?

And why couldn't he find out why he had acted like this?

"It doesn't make sense… I fucked up. I ruined everything. It's my fault."

"Harsh but undoubtedly true.", Denise remarked, and Cavendish adopted a wry smile.

"As was that agreement…"

He resumed his serious rant. "How come… How come I don't know?"

He began to pace around the room. "Logic dictates that I don't love them. But I know I care for them! I wouldn't be feeling guilty if I didn't!"

"Precisely! You may have failed them, but I know that you love them!"

Cavendish folded his arms. "What makes you think that? I've barely shown it, if at all."

"Well, let's see: You came to me, a trained psychiatrist, despite your all encompassing fragile ego, because you believe that you've ruined everything. Is that not love?"

Cavendish shook his head darkly. "It's not enough."

"True… But it's a start."

"But what if it's too late? What if I've already lost my second chance?"

Cavendish leaned on the wall, as he was starting to feel dizzy. "I just… I just wish I knew!"

A comforting hand on his shoulder later and Cavendish now knew that the other seat was empty too.

"There must be a detail you're forgetting. Are you sure you told me everything about the dream?"

At first, Cavendish wanted to snap back. Why, of course he had! It was pretty hard to forget! DID YOU SEE HOW MANY PAGES IT WAS?

Almost like the author was compensating for something…

Ahem. Moving on.

But…

A sudden flash sent Cavendish shivering. A feeling he had been trying to sink down resurfaced, and it nearly came hurtling back.

He instinctively felt one of his scars on his arm and Denise noticed it for the first time.

"Those seem awfully old…", she muttered, trying to hide the shock in her tone.

Cavendish gulped. He turned away and his tone got… Distracted and jumpy.

"I was a careless boy. Fell around a lot. Quite foolish… I should have been more careful…"

Why was he denying it?

Denise bit her bottom lip.

"…Old scars can heal.", she said, perhaps with too much assurance.

"I find your science quite faulty."

He had one mind to just leave. He wasn't prepared to face that.

…Why wasn't he?

Did he deserve it?

"You know… Revealing your problem to someone makes it easier to solve it. It's a tried and tested method."

She caressed his shoulder, and he relaxed under her touch. "I won't hurt you…", she said, quietly.

"Why? I deserved it."

Denise gasped. "What on earth do you mean, Mr. Cavendish?"

Cavendish sighed, as he felt the truth slowly come out. In a way… He wanted her to hate him, like he did. He wanted to make her see that he deserved it all.

Every last scar.

"Balthy was a fool. Balthy almost kissed that boy… And he was mercifully killed off."

A dark chuckle befell him. "Good riddance."

Denise didn't understand. In fact, she was a lot more experienced in fast food than in psychology.

But Mr. Cavendish was her friend. She had to help! Not just for him, but for Mr. Dakota, and those kids!

She had to help, because it is what's right.

"Ba… Mr. Cavendish…"

"What?", he asked, weakly, his eyes closed, his body closing into itself.

She pressed on, despite some hesitation.

"How did you get those scars?"

Cavendish tried to ignore. "…I don't want to say."

"Why? You said you deserved it. Surely… Surely if you are so proud of them, you can tell me whose handiwork it is."

Denise was quite impressed with her bravery. She was never this daring!

Perhaps it was the situation. One half of the heroes for hire needed help… After all they had given, perhaps it was time they got something in return.

Cavendish hated it, but her logic was stronger than his.

Why not just say it? He knew it was what he deserved.

Resigned to his fate, he began to spill.

"I was a problem child. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't ready… Ready for the cruel and unforgiving world ahead."

Cavendish tugged at his waistcoat, considering taking it off.

"…My father did what he had to do. I'm happy he punished me. I was pathetic."

He narrowed his eyes. His mind was made up. He deserved it, so he should own it, no?

He began to take off his coat, head getting stuck in the neck part for a moment.

"Now look at me…"

Revealed to the world, they glistened in the dim light of the closet, and Denise, despite herself, allowed a small gasp of shock as Cavendish's scar filled back and chest came out.

"Now I'm hideous inside and out."

Cuts and bruises, belt marks, and long winding scars covered his entire body. Some stretched from the top of his back to the bottom, and some were small contained spots of pain.

A burn mark or two could also be spotted near his chest.

"Cigerrete. He kept those for special occasions.", he answered the unspoken question.

In a weird way, these marks highlighted the ones that were always there to see: His lips now seemed scratched, his face now had obvious wound lines and his eyes were more sunken.

Feeling the gaze on him, Cavendish now felt ashamed and embarrassed: How could he have revealed so much?

It was most improper!

Besides, he wasn't supposed to show weakness!

Yet here he was, showing all that!

He felt so small and puny and disgusting!

"I… I shouldn't have done that…"

Cavendish turned away, hasty, afraid of further humiliation.

"I deserved it. I… I should have been better…"

Suddenly, he felt an odd sensation and turned his head around.

To his shock and surprise, he found Denise hugging him from behind!

"No… No you didn't.", she declared, with utmost certainty.

Cavendish shook his head, refusing to look at her. To look at anyone.

"Yes I did. These were reminders. That I should behave. That I should be better."

Denise was about to interject but then Cavendish added the truly shocking statement.

"I shouldn't complain. Every child is supposed to go through this anyway. It almost helped me, but for some reason, I ended up screwing it all up. I wasn't the man my father wanted me to be."

Denise turned Cavendish around, trying to detect the hint of a dark joke in his eyes, but he was telling the truth.

Shocked to her core, Denise dared to ask, knowing that she just might ruin his life by doing so. "Mr. Cavendish… Are you saying that all children are supposed to be beaten up?

Cavendish answered again, unsure as why she was confused. "Why, yes! I… Isn't that how it works?"

It was pretty obvious to him!

Seemed a rather silly question, if you asked him.

Denise looked absolutely crushed by all this, and Cavendish continued to misunderstand. "I don't follow. You also went through this, surely you remember!"

Cavendish's confusion only grew tenfold as Denise, who realized she had to make a big gesture to wake up her… Friend.

Yes. Her friend.

So, Denise, deciding to cross the threshold and save her friend showed her wound free arms.

Cavendish blinked in confusion, failing to understand.

"I… I don't get this. Where are…"

"I don't have any, Cavendish.", she said, weakly, softly, almost apologetic. Perhaps she could alleviate the blow. "Most people… The lucky ones… They don't get abused anymore."

Cavendish swallowed his spit, and his knees felt weak. His eyes darted madly all over the place and his heart pounded like a drum. It couldn't be. It… It couldn't be!

But the more he looked at Denise, the less sure he became.

Half a question came out of his lips, never completing. "…No…"

Denise nodded sadly.

The room began to spin faster than even the ceiling fan and Cavendish began to see spots.

"Mr. Cavendish, settle down! Here, let me hold you!", Denise shouted out, as the former time traveller nearly collapsed onto his therapist, his skin quite pale.

Denise began freaking out. She was a therapist/fast food cashier, not a doctor, damn it!

"Oh my god, oh my god…", she cried as she tried to fan Cavendish with a ketchup stained menu. "Please don't die, please don't die…"

Cavendish, who wasn't fainting but was definitely feeling faint, choked out some words. "I… No…"

Once she was sure that he wasn't going to faint, Denise tried to help Cavendish up to his feet, and in no time he was back on his feet.

But his mind was elsewhere.

"Denise… It… It can't be…"

Denise shook her head as he laid back on the wall, looking distraught, looking totally lost.

"I'm so sorry…", she trailed off as Cavendish looked at his hands.

Looked at their wounds.

His wounds.

Wounds he hadn't earned.

Wounds that…

"35 years…", Cavendish whispered, as he stumbled towards the chair.

Denise followed him closely, but she didn't follow his train of thought. "35 years?"

Cavendish nodded slowly as he sat down, a thousand miles and more than a hundred years away.

"…35 years… I tried to be the son he wanted… The man he wanted…"

Cavendish gulped, and he felt sick.

"For 35 years… I tried to make him proud. And… And…"

Cavendish felt tears threatening to come out, and he tried to stop them.

He covered his face, feeling shame, guilt, and utter regret.

"And by doing so, I ruined my life… Dakota's life… My friends and family's lives…"

He looked down and felt his scars.

Scars that would never heal.

And now reminded him not of improvement…

But of destruction.

His destruction.

"…All my life… Has been for nothing…"

Denise, who was also sitting down, held Cavendish's arms. "Mr. Cavendish, that's not true…"

"Yes it is!", he shouted, before stopping himself.

Taking some cleansing breaths, he resumed his point.

"Yes… It is…"

He hugged himself, a shiver running down his spine once more.

"I hurt the people I love… For someone who abused me… And now…"

Cavendish thought of it all.

The assholery.

The cold shoulders.

The checking out.

The fights.

…

He grimaced, the hole in his heart growing wider.

"…How can I ever forgive myself? How can I ever fix things?"

Denise sighed, sharing a sympathetic glance. "I know how you feel."

"You do?", Cavendish asked, surprising himself when he decided to ask how instead of disagree immediately.

Denise gulped. This story was hard to live with, let alone share.

But considering all Cavendish had shared today…

Shared with her…

She felt obligated to.

Denise closed her eyes, afraid to face Cavendish, and she slowly explained.

"You're not the only one with a problematic past."

Taking out her wallet, Denise extracted a small square photo of herself in an orange jumpsuit.

Barbed wire, guards, watchtowers…

Cavendish looked up wordlessly.

"…My father… And my older brothers… They suffered a lot. Police would check on them…"

"For no good reason.", She added with deep and silent rage.

Denise sighed. "I… I got tired of seeing them in danger for something they couldn't control…"

She almost chuckled. "And so… I lost control. And I ended up… Making the ignorant right."

She held his hand. "You became your dad… And I became my stereotype."

She then smiled, encouragingly. "But look at me now! I'm a changed woman! Out for 3 years now, and slowly getting back into society!"

Cavendish, who had been silent the entire time, didn't know what to say. "I'm… I'm so sorry, Denise."

Denise shook her head. "Don't be. I forgave myself. I'm past it."

She took a deep breath with her nose, closing her eyes, feeling the air around her. "I am… At peace."

Cavendish observed her with much sadness. Perhaps even envy. Why could he not do that? Was he truly that terrible?

He had hurt Dakota.

He had hurt the ones he loved.

Could he ever be at peace?

Could he ever live with himself?

"…I wish I could do that too."

Silence, as his breathing slowly reigned.

"…Why not?"

"…I just…"

Cavendish wanted to.

"I…"

He wanted to fix it all.

But…

Could he?

Should he?

Was there any hope?

Or would he just hurt them again?

"I… I want to. But…"

He bowed his head in shame.

"I don't know if I can, Denise."

He looked up, pain in his eyes.

"I don't know."

Suddenly, his eyes turned pleading, almost hopeful. "But… But maybe you can help me learn that!"

Denise sighed and scotched close to him, her answer not positive. "Mr. Cavendish… I can help with many things."

A hand collected his, caressing the scars. "But… But only YOU can forgive yourself."

Cavendish sighed, now fully understanding the situation.

The obstacle in his way was, as ever, himself.

And this time, it might be too big of a hurdle.

In one way, Cavendish was almost impressed: He had gone from seeing no fault in himself to seeing only faults in himself.

But it looked like he still had a long way to go.

And he just might not make it.

If only he had realized sooner…

If only he deserved another chance…

Wrecking his mind, Cavendish prayed for an answer.

But try as he might, he couldn't find a reason for Dakota to come back.

Cavendish wasn't sure he could fix his own heart…

How the hell was he going to fix Dakota's?

Not since childhood had Cavendish felt so alone.

And even Denise's hug didn't help as his cries, ones that once he would never have dared show next to another person, echoed across the closet.


End file.
